A Craft In Itself (Journey to Dunland)
by Meysun
Summary: Spring has come. It is time for Thorin and his family to head for Dunland - and for Dwalin to leave the Iron Hills to follow him. As their bond strengthen, in laughter and in peril, Thorin rediscovers a unique link to his father, and the courage of his little brother.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** : And here we go, the almost-last re-edited part of Thorin's life! For those joining the journey here, the story is told from Thorin's point of view, as he lies dying on Ravenhill and remembers. In this part, he is still twenty-four - about twelve in Human years.

Thank you so much for (re)reading - one more part to go and then, I promise, I will only write new stuff! Much love, take care, Meysun.

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 **The King of Carven Stone : Part V**

 **A Craft In Itself (Journey To Dunland)**

 **1.**

No belongings. Almost no belongings. At least packing was easy – I kept repeating those words silently, trying to lull my thoughts to sleep, that last evening in the Iron Hills. Our last sheltered night, in walls of stone, among people we knew and called our kin.

I was standing in our room, facing our bed where Frerin had spread our clothes, our weapons already cleaned, carefully sheathed in their scabbards.

"Dáin said I might keep my bow...", my brother voiced, looking at the small bundle displaying what we still owned.

Tunics, breeches, some underwear, a pair of warm trousers. And socks – without holes, speaking of love and care.

"Won't it be too heavy?", I asked, my voice low. "You will have your bag, your sword, and your axe...

\- I'd rather leave my axe...", Frerin answered, and I looked at him – he was fingering his bow, running his hand along the rich wood where Dáin had carved ornaments for him.

"Don't say that, _kudz_... You know you can't say such things..."

I had spoken gently, reaching out for him, circling his waist.

"No Dwarf ever leaves his axe behind. For now, you might only find it heavy – a burden, a weapon you dislike because you cannot wield it properly yet... But you will need it soon. Be it only for firewood, you will be glad to have it on your back. Your axe... It is home, in a way, Frerin..."

He leaned against me, his cheek finding my shoulder.

"It is home for you...", he whispered. "You are not afraid to wield it...

\- Neither are you...", I answered, but Frerin shook his head.

"I don't manage... Fighting with an axe... it is too close, it is too... too violent, Thorin."

I pondered his words for a while. It was true – there was violence in everything this weapon implied. Well did I remember my fight against those Orcs, where I had dealt blows that had cut through their foul beings as if they were made of wood, drawing dark blood... They had been so close indeed – it had been either them or me, and I had acted instinctively...

The sword was a completely different weapon – speaking of close combat as well, but where each blow had to be dealt with a precision the axe could not achieve, and required less strength...

And the bow required even more skills, a sure hand and keen eyes, killing from the distance, long before foes could reach you...

"It is a wonderful training weapon", I said, in the end. "It allows access to others – you don't need to be perfect with an axe, Frerin. But if you know how to wield it, you will be strong with a sword, as well as a bow. I do prefer the sword, I should think... But I would not be as deft with it, had I laid down my axe..."

Frerin shifted slightly so as to face me, drawing his arms around my chest, his gaze bright and full of fondness.

"Oh, but you are such a fighter, Thorin..."

His words were warm, and he touched foreheads with me. I closed my eyes, feeling his soft skin against mine. And words left my lips before I really thought about them.

"I would rather not have to be...

\- And what would you like to be...?"

Frerin had kept his head against mine, and my eyes were still closed. It was late in the afternoon – we were supposed to finish our packing, but somehow I clung to that moment, that last moment where we both could still pretend to have dreams...

"A goldsmith...", I whispered. "I would have that forge, and carve necklaces, rings and bracelets, with stones I would have brought back from all around the world, and I would display them on black velvet, so that they could shine like stars... The most beautiful I would keep, for Dís... and the others I would show, for my friends to see...

\- And me...?", Frerin asked, softly, and I could hear the smile in his voice, so close to me, so close...

"You... you would be the most renowned Dwarf in Middle Earth – the Dwarf with the magic toys... Every child would have heard of Frerin, and yearn for one of his horses, music boxes and drinking glasses... There would always be noise at your working place, some mechanisms chanting, hopping up and down... a small world hidden behind your door..."

I could almost see it – the image was so vivid, my brother standing there, surrounded by toys in being, smiling, whistling a song before carving the box that would shelter that tune...

"Then let's just do it...", Frerin whispered.

I rubbed my forehead against his – looking one last time at that dark-haired silhouette, bent upon a shiny necklace, at that other golden-haired frame, smiling among toys...

And then I opened my eyes, and met my brother's gaze.

"In another life, Frerin..."

He did not let go of me at once. I had spoken softly, and we both watched that dream spin one last time around us, before it shattered, leaving us as we were, facing the bed and the small bundle of clothes scattered upon the quilt.

"Socks and breeches it is, then...", Frerin said – and we both smiled, taking our bags and piling the clothes in them, without another word.

It did not take much longer, after that. It was not our home we were leaving, after all, there would be memories, but we did not have to choose between objects we held dear, or among clothes...

But Dwalin – my heart bled for Dwalin, my chest tightened every time I imagined him, facing his bag, his mother helping him to pack, probably rolling one last warm cloth to keep her son warm, on dreary nights, and stuffing it between others...

He did not have to leave all this behind him... He had never been obliged to leave shelter – as a matter of fact, he was the only Dwarf in the Iron Hills leaving home for uncertain roads...

It did not make sense. It was so unfair for him. And it was so generous, so selfless – and so heartbreaking for his parents, especially for his mother, who would see him go tomorrow, while Fundin at least had some time left, escorting us until we reached the Brown Lands...

I did not want to intrude, that last evening with his mother. The last evening they would be all together, him, Balin and their parents... Perhaps he would be able to return, every now and then – but Dunland was miles and miles away, the journey would take months... And Dwalin was my _mamarrakhûn_ now – we had been mad enough to seal that oath, he was doomed to stay at my side, and I doubted my steps would carry me back to the Iron Hills ere long, perhaps never...

We stayed in Náin's sitting room, Dís on my father's lap – for Thráin had understood we all had to leave, had obeyed his father and packed his belongings as well, helped by Náin. He had not really spoken, ever since his latest outburst – he was grieved, and drained of every will, simply obeying, finding his only solace in keeping us close.

And we all let him hold us, because we loved him – it had been so clear again for me, the day he had hit me instead of my grandfather... Just like that night in the tent where he had almost choked me – somehow, it just made me see how much I loved him, because of that terrible ache I could see in his eyes right afterwards, showing plainly he could not help it, that he had only felt threatened and abused...

I would rather be beaten by him every day, than to stay sheltered while he strived. And so, when he searched for me the morning following his fight with Thrór, I let him pull me against him, stroke my bruised ribs with his palms, trying to atone for the pain I felt... His touch was so gentle, so caring, it was hardly believable it came from the same Dwarf whose fist had crashed against my bones...

I had leant against him, sitting on his lap like a child – I did not care what others said, I just wanted him soothed... And his touch was wholesome, somehow, I never could explain it, but it felt different, when it was his hand stroking my skin – probably because I had known it ever since I was born...

That day I was seated at his feet, leaning against the armchair, my head resting against his knee. Frerin was seated cross-legged in another armchair, looking at the fire, absent-mindedly undoing one of his braids and humming a tune. My father was rocking Dís gently, and every now and then his hand would also touch my hair.

And we heard a soft knock on the door, looked up – and Dwalin was standing there, as well as Balin.

"Would you... would you care to join us?"

It was unlike Dwalin to stutter, but he was not used to my father yet – and his brother added, in a more composed voice:

"Thráin, my parents would appreciate very much to have you with them this evening. You, and the lads – if you feel like it..."

I had risen to my feet, slowly, while Dís had turned, staying in my father's arms. I looked at my father, and Thráin seemed surprised, but not unsettled – he soon turned his gaze towards me.

 _What should I answer,_ dashat _?_

I was becoming so used to reading the thoughts he was not voicing...

"Do you want to go, _'adad_? You do know Fundin – Balin's father, he is often staying with Náin, and his wife used to... used to be ' _amad_ 's friend... You do remember, do you?"

We all had got used to repeating names and special details to him, always the same one detail associated with a person, so that he could remember more easily. And it worked, most of the time – reassured my father... And then, there was also the magic key held by my mother's name...

So Thráin smiled, and got up slowly, letting go of Dís who jumped down the armchair, running towards Dwalin who crouched to catch her in his broad arms, smiling as she kissed his cheek.

"Hey, _sarnûna_ , what are you up to, eh...?", he asked tenderly, and Dís beamed at him, bending slightly so as to kiss Balin.

"Everything is packed! And I'll have a bag to carry too...", she said proudly, and my friend nodded.

"Good. Very good, Dís. It will strengthen your back, and your arms", he answered, adding in a lower voice: "Good for training..."

She smiled, and I looked at him, searching for his face above my sister's locks – was he really so calm and content, or was he only pretending, hiding his sadness away...?

"Hey there, you plague...", Dwalin smiled at my brother, boxing his shoulder as my father and Balin began to walk away. "Didn't forget your underpants?

\- Nope", Frerin grinned. "And just in case you might forget yours, they are not for sale.

\- Heartless little rascal..."

He let go of Dís who took Frerin's hand, following Balin, and I could face him at last, asking him silently one last time if he was really sure, if he still wanted it – it was all right to pull back, I would not resent him, I would understand...

"Don't you dare...", Dwalin said simply, entwining his arm with mine.

There was so much surety in his voice – and I was so glad to have him at my side, so glad... I yielded then, dragging his arm against my chest, my throat too tight to speak.

"Dáin is coming too...", he added, his voice even as we walked. "He asked Náin to accompany us, and he said yes.

\- Good...", I said – the word was so shallow, compared to what I felt, but what was there left to say?

"Your chest...?", Dwalin asked, softly – and I would have to get used to him asking, it would not do to hide injuries away from him anymore, I had to learn to rely upon him...

"Fine. No pain."

Almost no pain – the bruise was still wide, but nothing of consequence, I would be able to carry bags and weapons alike.

"Good."

It makes me almost smile, now... I certainly was not, back then – I was struggling with so many emotions: guilt mingled with grief because I tore him apart from his family, relief because he still wanted to come, gratefulness because he was there, and love as well, something close to what I felt for Balin...

It makes me smile because we still felt obliged to discuss things – it made everything more official, more serious... We were only boys, back then... Afterwards there would be no need for words. I would look at him and always guess it, when he was hurt or tired, and so would he. There would be no need to ask – how often has he simply stepped behind me, taking some of my burden away...?

Even during the quest – Mahal, how exhausted I have felt, so often, without being able to rest, it was never safe, there was never enough time... There was only Dwalin, removing some of the weight crushing my back when he saw my face getting too drawn – Dwalin, quietly undoing the straps of my sword belt so as to spare my damaged ribs, without doing me the dishonour to take my weapons from me... Helping me out of my chainmail every night, after I faced that Orc, because I was not able to do it alone – never asking, only coming back quietly after me, and helping me...

But back then we both were still awkward... Yet we both trusted the other – there were no more secrets between us, and his family knew about my father's madness, I had allowed Dwalin to speak of it now that he was coming with us, they deserved to know…

I do remember that evening. I remember it, because it was so quiet, and peaceful – because everyone knew we were going, yet nobody spoke of it.

We all just tried to enjoy it – had a meal together, sat quietly with each other, and I could see some of the grief in my father's eyes fade away as he sat there, close to Balin, facing Fundin and his wife...

They were both so kind, so thoroughly reliable... He was brushing her arms sometimes, never obtrusive, well-knowing what Thráin had lost yet still speaking to him naturally – about the furnaces, about the way they had improved isolation lately...

Themes that were safe, and interested my father, making him open up. And her... The former friend of his wife, he knew her well, remembered her at once, said her name softly, gently clasping his hand around her forearm...

He did not speak about my mother – he just looked at Dís every now and then, and there was always love in his gaze. My father never resented her for our mother's death – he only hated himself for it...

"Hey, relax...", Dwalin said softly, squeezing my arm. "He's fine. Your father won't break down because you are not there to look at him..."

Frerin was in the kitchen with Dís, helping Dwalin's mother with dessert, and I was in Dwalin's room – that room I knew so well, in which I had almost died...

The desk was cleaned of parchments and quills. The books were still there – he would not need them on the road. The map pinned to his wall had vanished, however, as well as Dís' drawing. His bags were packed – two small bags, containing clothes and some food, while his fur-coat was hanging on the back of a chair, his weapons lying ready on the closed chest.

We were both sitting on his bed, not facing each other – sitting next to each other, looking at that room where he had lived, and dreamed, and grown up...

"I am so sorry...", I whispered, my throat sore from repressing what I felt – and Dwalin got up swiftly, closing his door quietly and coming back to me.

I could not speak, I had a lump in my throat and my eyes burned: I knew what it was to lose a room, and memories, and the shelter of a long-known home, I had been through it, I had learned I could face it... But to see Dwalin go through the same ache – it was unbearable, suddenly, I could not deal with that pain anymore, it just yearned to break free.

He circled my shoulders and I realized my body was so rigid my back hurt. I had clenched my fists – I had to brace myself, he was the one to be comforted, not me...

"What is it, eh?"

He had asked softly, was pulling me against him with a gentle move – not rough this time, knowing I would tense even more. And I yielded – almost brutally, hugging him so fiercely he could barely breathe, wanting him to feel that I knew exactly how much he was giving me.

I must have hurt him, with that embrace; I have never been able to be only gentle when feelings overcame me like that – when the dam just broke, my arms could only crush at first...

But Dwalin was strong – and he knew me. He crossed his arms on my back, in that special embrace that was as close to safety as I could ever feel... And he just waited for me to speak, for my embrace to soften, for my body to feel alive again, not made of steel and stone...

"I am so sorry..."

I had repeated it, feeling so unworthy... But Dwalin just brushed my back, holding me against him – so calm, so gentle...

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Thorin..."

He had spoken quietly, in that earnest tone he would employ, sometimes – when I needed him to oppose me, to be as strong as I had to be, and even more...

"It is _not – your – fault_. No need to burden you with that. Please, stop believing you should feel sorry for me – I chose it, alright? I won't ever feel sorry for it – and I don't want you to be.

\- But what if... you feel sad, and all alone – and..."

My voice choked then – it just choked. I was still holding him tightly, and I pressed my face against his shoulder, clenching my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut as my heart broke.

\- I won't be", Dwalin answered, and I could barely believe he was smiling – I could feel it in his voice...

"You will be there, and Dís, and Frerin... And have you forgotten that Balin is coming as well? I will have my big, annoying, fastidious elder brother to look at everything I'm doing, make sure I'll change socks every day and that I am speaking proper Khuzdûl and not misbehaving – how else do you think I would have been able to go, eh?"

Somehow, his words lessened the hurt in my chest, freeing my breath again as I was becoming fully aware of their meaning.

It was true – I had forgotten it. Not that Balin was coming, and that he was Dwalin's brother – but what it implied. They would go together, Fundin's sons, and Balin was reliable, Balin loved his little brother and would be able to understand some of his grief, he would be able to talk about home, and his parents, and his friends, with someone who could rely to his feelings, because they shared the same blood and the same roots...

I pulled away from him, slowly, meeting the soft half-smile on his lips that lightened his eyes.

And in the end I voiced it – that crushing doubt I felt, every time I looked at him, every time I was thinking of him at my side, leaving his home to follow me...

"And... when I will disappoint you – what then...?"

My voice was so tiny, hardly above a whisper.

"I am nothing special, Dwalin. They all think I am, but I am not... and – when you will find out, when you will realize that you have just left everything for... someone who is not even what you believe him to be, you will..."

I had to stop, had to draw a shuddering breath – oh Mahal, we were both so young, so young still... And I was so scared – I was so afraid to let him down, to be unworthy of his sacrifice...

Please, Mahal, tell me I have only be unworthy these last few days – that he is not resenting me for this life of hardship, that I still gave him a reason to go on, that following me has not been the worst decision of his life...

My chest hurts. It hurts – it's the only part of my body I can still feel, somehow, the only part that is still warm, because of the blood, there's so much blood soaking my side... It's getting so hard to breathe – just as hard as it was that day...

I wish I had him here – I wish I could hear him say the same words he used that evening, easing my pain, taking some of that burden away and locking forearms with me.

"I don't need you to be special", he answered, quietly. "I just want you to be yourself. At least when you are with me – because you know what...? I am nothing special either.

\- Not true...", I whispered, and Dwalin smiled.

He pushed me on the bed, lying down next to me, so that we both faced the ceiling, our arms still entwined.

"Alright. We are both amazing Dwarves. The most amazing Dwarves that ever roamed the Earth, and they will sing songs about us – Thorin son of Thráin who was nothing special, and Dwalin son of Fundin who wasn't either and did not give a damn..."

I gave him a little shove, but I was smiling actually, my fingers tight around his arm. I felt lighter than I had in days, somehow – I would still feel guilty, all my life it has both warmed my heart and made it ache, to have him at my side, him who gave me everything when I had nothing... But that fear of breaking down in front of him, of letting him down and disappointing him – it had gone.

I had broken down, had shown him clearly I was not that cold-headed, brave and strong Dwarfling, not deep inside, not when no one was looking...

And it had not made him look down on me or turn from me – and it was such a relief, such a relief...

"What are you up to, in there? Dessert's ready! And we won't keep your share if you don't hurry!"

Frerin's voice was cheerful, mocking us on the other side of the door – we both smiled, and then got up. He caught me, though, before I reached the door, preventing me to move, pretending to wrestle, his brown eyes sparkling, his arms around my chest, just for fun, to show his fondness...

I resisted him for a while, I was not facing him, my back resting against his chest. I put my hand on his wrist, and then I ducked under his arm, getting past him with a swift move, hiding my smile as I heard his laughter.

And then I left his room – not looking back, aware that he was following. And so glad he was.

They gave it to me then – Dwalin's mother and Dís. Once we had all pushed back our plates, I saw my sister fidget, and Dwalin's mother smiled and whispered something to her.

"Thorin, close your eyes...", Dís said, her voice commanding, and I looked at her, puzzled – almost frowning.

She got up, circled the table and climbed on my knee, her small palms shielding my eyes.

"Just close them...", she repeated, smiling, almost laughing, and I obeyed, still backed up against my chair, feeling people move around me, hearing them push away plates and glasses...

"I'm sure you won't guess", my sister said, her small body quivering with anticipation – how happy she sounded, how sheltered we all were, sitting there around the table...

"Ready?"

I nodded – I still could not see, and had no idea what was going on, I just wanted to please her. Dís removed her palms from my eyes and I blinked, feeling her slide down, freeing my sight.

And I blinked again, my body freezing against the chair, my hands clutching the wooden edge as I realized what I was seeing.

It was my jerkin.

The dark, so well-known leather jerkin I had brought back from Erebor, that had been covered in dust, soiled by Orc blood and drenched in snow. That had shielded my chest until I had reached the Iron Hills, that had been declared damaged beyond repair.

But it was not. Dwalin's mother and Dís had taken so much pain – to treat the leather so that it became supple and strong again, to undo the embroideries that had half-vanished, and to weave them again, taking care to respect the initial pattern – craftsmanship from Erebor, almost lost, and yet...

I kept it all my life. It stopped fitting me, after several years – I had not reached my full height yet, and after a while I had to fold it, but I never gave it away. Frerin did not wear it – he was too close in age. But Dís... Oh Dís...

She was the one packing our clothes, after all. Those years where we had to move, all the time – she was the one who wrapped it up carefully and made sure it stayed with me, knowing what it meant to me, and probably wishing it would make me remember that some things could be mended, even when there was little hope...

I do remember the day I saw it again – on that small body that had no idea the terrible things this jerkin had witnessed. He had rummaged in our cupboards and found it, thought it pretty – he just liked its smell, because it smelled of me, that's what he said, standing there and beaming at me, unaware of my shock, unaware of anything but his childish pride...

My boy – my little boy, my Fíli, standing there dressed like a living ghost...

I could not move either, the day they gave it back to me. I just stared at it – I could only stare at it, realizing just how well Dís and Dwalin's mother knew me... They must have spent hours, trying to mend it so that I could wear it again – so that I could be pleased...

"Don't worry...", Frerin said – I could hear his voice from far away, I was still looking at that cloth, speaking of home, and shelter, and memory...

"He's happy. He's really happy. He just doesn't know to deal with it, does he, _'adad_?"

My father was sitting close to me, and he was smiling, I saw it as I looked up, trying to hold back my feelings, to find back my voice. He smiled, as he bent towards me, and undid my belt gently. He was the one removing the jerkin I had got from Dwalin, the one I would also wear, on the road, and like just as much...

He wrapped the cloth around me carefully, adjusting it on my shoulders, and he clasped my belt around my waist, nodding slightly as he did so – because it was right.

"Thank you...", I whispered, once I was clothed again – and I felt both weak and strong, wrapped in those garments that were truly mine...

"Thank you..."

I could only repeat it, on and on, letting Dís come back to me and embracing her closely, and finally getting up, reaching Dwalin's mother, my arms around her waist and my face against her breast.

She was so loving – so generous, and truly loving. She is one of the women I loved most, in my life – I never forgot her, or her scent, and the soft caress of her hands against my hair. I took everything from her – and yet she only ever gave, always, so much, her goodness warming me like a second sun...

"You keep walking, sweetheart. Don't you worry. Just because it winds and turns doesn't mean you are taking the wrong road..."

She was with us every day, on the road – and just like she had said to Dís, she was there through small, seemingly unimportant things, yet so crucial...

She was there when Frerin unpacked his bag, the first evening on the road, and gave a cry of delight in discovering a small parcel full of butter cakes.

She was there every morning Dís awoke – sleeping close to my father this time, and so proud to show us she knew to braid her hair alone. She had left her tiara in the Iron Hills – she did not want her crown to be seen, and had made Dwalin's mother promise she would keep it safe. After all, she was the one who had taught her how to tame her hair, using the same woman-braids my mother had used before she wed my father...

She was there, that famous first evening on the road where I saw Dwalin unpack something, and freeze, his tall body getting still close to me.

We had left the Iron Hills early in the morning – and I do not want to try and remember how it felt exactly. What is there to be said, when parting is so hard, so full of uncertainty? What words could possibly describe how it felt like, to walk away, turning our back on those proud, red Hills, knowing that there was a Dwarrowdam grieving silently, yet standing tall, erect and even smiling against the stone door, waving us away until the last moment...?

What words can describe the heaviness there was in every step, in those early hours where the sky was still dark, and the road barely visible, winding among the rocks, and leading to the woods...?

And how is it to be explained, that strange, almost indecent transition between a state of grief so crushing that you cannot even look around you, and that shy, yet unbending curiosity that will make you lift up your gaze eventually, look at the woods around you, discovering that the sky is getting clear and blue above you, and that you are eager to find out what could be hidden behind those pines...?

We were a small company, heading out for the Brown Lands. Náin, Dáin, and about twenty of his warriors, including Fundin. My grandfather and Nár of course, my father and Balin, Dwalin, Dís, Frerin and me... And Dagur who had followed as well, several former guards from Erebor, their wives, and then mostly families with elder Dwarves and no children, that had not found a better way than following us...

We must have been a bit less than a hundred – and Dís was the youngest. There was no Dwarfling save us, on that road, and I could only feel relief – it removed some of my fear, to know that I would only have to take care of my siblings, that there would be no second Svali this time...

The Hills soon vanished behind us – and I did not look back, I knew how it had to be done, one step after another, following the road, making sure I kept walking so that I could stop thinking...

The pine trees were so high, and the smell so intense – and yes, I remember that moment indeed, when I truly looked around me and felt that small spark of curiosity, that desire to explore...

And it was wonderful – truly wonderful, to have Dwalin walking at my side. It made the world around me look... simply so full of promises, not only full of obstacles to overcome, but worth to be explored, and commented...

"See – those woods we kept, they are a good fence against foes. Grór never touched that forest – the wood for the furnaces comes from trees further north...

\- What foes?", I asked – we had not come from there, we had only followed the River, and I did not remember any trees, just a white, barren and hostile landscape...

Dwalin shrugged his shoulders, smiling at me.

"Lost Dwarflings with shiny jerkins?"

I poked him in the ribs – but I was so relieved he was there, completely himself, full of genuine pleasure, showing those landscapes to me while he still knew them...

We had not even crossed Dwalin's private boundaries when we stopped that night. We all carried bags, but there were also carts we dragged along us, where we had piled tents, and blankets, as well as some goods...

And I did not have to worry about safety issues this time – Náin was still there, as well as his warriors, and it felt completely different... I could think about what I had seen without torturing myself about a place of rest that was truly safe, without even sharing night-guards, without being scared to light a fire...

I was still marvelling at that strange, carefree feeling as I put down my back and stretched my roll on the ground – no one really wanted to fold out tents that night, we were still so close to the Hills and the fires were warm...

Dwalin had already done the same, had begun to unpack his bag – and suddenly he froze, close to me. I looked up, and he was staring at a small, leather-bound booklet he had found between his shirts, and opened. He did not move for almost a minute – and I watched him, kneeling close to my own bag, my hand still resting upon it.

He gave a painful breath – and then he got up, silently, taking the booklet with him, leaving the fire's light and warmth...

I would have hated it, to be followed in such a moment – I have run away so often to hide my feelings, and yet, if I am truly honest, I am not sure I have resented it, every time there has been someone brave enough to go after me...

For a while I just stayed as I was, unfolding my blanket yet only yearning to assure myself Dwalin was all right – I did not know what to do… Frerin was unpacking his bag too and had just discovered the cakes – and suddenly I decided I had to try.

I got up, and walked towards the edge of the trees where I had seen Dwalin disappear. He had not run away, not really – he never was ashamed to acknowledge his feelings, there was always so much constancy him...

He was happy to be with me on the road – he truly was. And he was also distressed because he had had to leave his mother behind – and for him, there was no problem in dealing with both feelings at the same time, he did not even see how hard it was to live through all this, he was just feeling it...

He had sat on a trunk, and was staring at that little booklet, brushing it every now and then with his thumb. He was not crying, he was only breathing unevenly – I could feel it when I sat down next to him, circling his waist with my arms.

"Hey, you...", he just said, his voice thick – and then he wiped his nose, only once, with the back of his hand.

I did not say anything, I just held him, and this time he was the one leaning against me.

I did not ask about the booklet, either. It was so private – I had no right to ask, I just wanted Dwalin to know that I was there.

"You know, my mum...", Dwalin began, and then he drew a shuddering breath, before turning towards me – and that grin, that wonderful, strong smile he managed to summon...

"She's completely, completely crazy, but I love her."

And then he stood up, just like this. He was still smiling, despite his bright eyes – no conflicted feelings in his heart, no bitterness, and so much courage...

"Come. Let's get some cakes before Frerin just eats them all."

We both returned – and I still had my arm entwined with his, not knowing if I was truly leading him back or if it was him dragging me back to fire and light, and what did it matter...

He showed them to me, though, years after – the words his mother had written on the first page of that small leather booklet, well-knowing which son she was addressing, and loving him just like she loved Balin...

So strange that I should recall them now, so strange that, though there is no one next to me now, I feel as if she is addressing me as well, trying to soothe me just as she wanted to comfort her son...

.

" _Your children are not your children._

 _They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself._

 _They come through you but not from you,_

 _And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you._

 _You may give them your love but not your thoughts,_

 _For they have their own thoughts._

 _You may house their bodies but not their souls,_

 _For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,_

 _which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams_."

.

She had quoted sacred words I had never really noticed and understood before – but after them she had added words from her own heart, words that did not speak of universality, but of that very special and unique love of a mother towards her son:

" _Write to your old mother, if you feel like it. Dream and live always._

 _You are my blessing, as is your brother, and will always have mine, no matter where you go and when we will meet again._ "

She did not sign – she did not need to. And I do not know what Dwalin wrote in that booklet – I do not know how many letters found their way to her, before they met again at last...

All I know is that she was there. Always there, with him and also with me, no matter how crooked and twisted my road might have been... And I hope – I hope she will not judge me too harshly, when I will have to look at her, when I will have to answer for what I put her sons through...

I hope she will still embrace me, in the end, just like she did the day she gave me back a part of my Soul, and enough strength to face the road once more.

* * *

 **Neo-Khuzdûl translations and notes** :

\- _Kudz_ : short for kudzaduz, tiny golden coin, Thorin's nickname for Frerin.

\- _Sarnûna_ : dancing-lady, Dwalin's nickname for Dís.

\- _Mamarrakhûn_ : "he who continues to shield", a shield-brother.

\- The text Dwalin's mother quites is actually a fragment of what Khalil Gibran wrote 'On Children' in _The Prophet_ \- a truly wonderful book.


	2. Chapter 2

**The King of Carven Stone : Part V**

 **A Craft In Itself (Journey to Dunland)**

 **2.**

The smell of earth. Always earth. Sometimes mossy, rich and wet, sometimes dry, or covered with fallen leaves. That is what always comes first to my mind when I think of the road... I have seen so much of it – so much that it has often seemed to me that my only true abode lay there... The road that took me further from home... The road that brought me back home at last...

There is no earth below me. There is only ice, and wind. And stone – stone I can feel close to my shoulder, stone coated in snow, but hard and reassuring. No earth.

No warmth either.

It feels right, though – earth and warmth, they do not belong here, not on Ravenhill whose fallen tower cannot offer shelter anymore, and stands there, forlorn and empty, scattered with bodies of foes, and kin...

The Ravens did not flee, did not seek for shelter this time – they fought along with the Eagles, proud and savage, led by their own lord... My friend Roäc... My old, dear friend...

I do remember the first time we met. But what really warms my heart – even now, even so close to the end – is to recall the day his name found its way back to me.

We were advancing quickly, and it was so easy, to cross those lands – we had enough supplies to move on without having to stop, work and beg for food... There were no wounded, no sick, only hardened Dwarves, and warriors that would make sure their King reached his new destination unharmed...

We were not really heading for the Brown Lands – that desolate area had been burnt by an evil worse than Dragons long ago... Náin and his warriors were escorting us all the way to the Anduin River – our path led us down the Red River, and then we travelled close to the River Running once more, but on its other bank. It was not the same path we had taken during exile, for after that we would walk close to Elven trees – not entering Mirkwood, only passing its border.

We would cross the Anduin where the river Limlight added more water to its streams, and then we would head for Dunland, avoiding Lorien and the forest of Fangorn, entering our new abode as Dwarves – through the Mountains...

Our path laid us through water and trees – and that day we had just crossed the River Running, thus leaving Dwarven lands behind. I had looked, searched the horizon – had not been able to repress the urge to see my Mountain once more, one last time...

But the sky was clouded, and it was so far away – it could not be seen, it was hidden behind trees, behind leaves and heavy clouds... And my heart was just as heavy, as I crossed the River, helping Frerin to cross the banks, for there was no real bridge.

We had chosen a spot where the waters were low, and where they could be crossed by walking upon wet rocks, but the stream was strong and the way slippery – I did not care for Frerin's pouting, I just took his hand in mine, firmly, and made sure each step he took was safe, leading on slowly, carefully, hearing the water roar around us, pooling around the stones...

Trying not to think about the last time I had heard the River roar around Dís and me, toxic fumes swirling around us while embers replaced stars in the dark sky...

Following Dáin who had already crossed the River, and was helping his father and my own with the carts – the warriors were dragging them across the water and it was dangerous, they were moving with caution, had stretched ropes between trees so as to be able to withstand the current...

"Thorin, you are such a bore – let _go_!"

We had crossed the water, had reached the other bank, and Frerin jumped from the last rock, making sure he splashed water upon me, not caring to be drenched himself, only laughing at me, shaking himself free from my grasp...

"Stop it!", I snapped, glaring at him. "It's not funny! I don't want you to fall into the water, Mahal knows where the current would take you, we don't know these banks..."

He made a face at me, ready to mock me – but then Dwalin crossed the River, carrying Dís on his back, and joined us quietly, putting my sister down, and Frerin thought better.

"One day you will have to let go, Thorin...", he simply said.

And then he shouldered his bag, his weapons and went on walking, shaking his hair free from water drops, following Dáin and the other Dwarves through the trees without a look behind.

I huffed in annoyance, brushing my trousers, shifting the weight of my bag on my other shoulder, and Dwalin laughed, softly.

"Mahal, that _look_ on your face is just priceless...

\- Just stop it..."

But I had to smile, nonetheless – because he was there, and because of Dís who was gravely pulling up her trousers, determined to keep them from getting muddy, now that our path would lead once more through the trees. She was dressed as a boy again, and her hair was floating freely around her face that day – somehow she had not fastened her braids properly, and her hair clasps had slipped...

" _Mamarlûna_...", I said, and she looked up at me, not even noticing that her hair brushed the ground.

I just touched my own hair, and she got up, looked at her locks and bit her lip – and I just had to laugh, she was so lovely, my little sister who was so determined not to be a burden...

I stepped up to her, I made her stand before me, and then I gathered her hair clasps, placing them between my own teeth, and quickly braided her hair. I divided her raven mane in two, and when the braids were woven I wrapped them around her head, carefully, fastening them with the clasps.

"There you go, _mamarlûna_... Trousers are all fine, but you..."

And then I bent down, and I kissed the soft spot on her neck that was now bare, exposed, so fragile... She turned, I heard the silvery sound of her laughter as she struggled to break free, and in the end she just threw herself in my arms with a growl, like a fierce little cat, determined to get her vengeance – she kissed my neck, my cheek, even my ear, pretending to bite me, and all along I was laughing, carrying her away, forgetting the River and what its boundaries implied...

We were both dishevelled when I put her down, and she did not let go of me at once.

"Who won?", she asked, her tone commanding, and I could not bring myself to answer at once, I just smiled at her, pretending to waver.

She wrapped her arms tighter around my chest, pulling me closer.

"Who won, Thorin?"

I pretended to choke, and she barely suppressed a laugh – but she did not let go, and I suddenly wished this moment would never end.

"You."

I had whispered the word close to her ear and watched her smile widen, silently, as I went on, tickling her hair with my words:

"You won, because you are my little queen and will always be."

She hugged me, then, resting her face against my shoulder.

"Are you happy, Thorin? Because I want you to be – I want you to be just as happy as now, I want us to stay like this forever..."

Once more her thoughts had echoed mine, and I stood still for a while, struck mute by her words.

"I... I am very happy now, _mamarlûna_. My heart is always full when I hold you... Yet Frerin is right – we cannot stay like this forever, holding each other close and forgetting the world around us. But what I really, really promise you is that I will try – I will work hard, I will take life as it is and I will never, ever complain, I promise you..."

Her small hands moved, rubbing circles against my back.

"But that's not happiness, Thorin...", she said softly. "You are so sad inside, _marlel_... Is there really nothing more you can hope for? Working hard without complaining – is it the only future you can see? Why are they so many shadows, when you imagine the road that lies before us..."

I had turned rigid in her arms, my smile had vanished, and my face felt icy. I looked at the trees around us, focused on their bare branches, where buds could already be seen – a promise of spring, of emerald robes covering the barren trees... Anything but facing Dís – those ageless eyes that could always discern every truth I so desperately tried to conceal...

"Don't run away...", she whispered, and I looked down at her, my arms still around her yet barely feeling her body against mine.

"I'm here, Dís...", I said, but she shook her head, still brushing my back, her face so earnest, her gaze so loving...

"You are locking yourself away."

I let out a deep breath – the other Dwarves had moved on, we were among the last close to the river, we had to get away from the water...

"I..."

I was struggling with words once more. I did not know how to answer – how to find the strength to reply to such words, that showed me so clearly that she was not fooled by my smile, by my daring steps, not even by my loving words...

"I just miss the Mountain..."

Now this was definitely not what I had wanted to say. Especially not in that tiny voice, where I could barely suppress a quiver. But I still heard myself add:

"I know I shouldn't. I know it was wrong to hope to look at her one last time. But I still hoped and – it was wrong... She's not there... She will never be there anymore... And – it just makes me unable to see... I know I should try to picture a new home, to be confident, to see the halls we might be able to build but I... I can't... Every time I look at the trees, I wish they could part, I wish I could just see her, before I move even further from her... And it's just so _wrong_...

\- Why do you say that?"

Her small arms tightened even more around me.

"What you feel is not wrong. It is never wrong. It just shows that you loved the Mountain – that you love her still, and that you are worthy of her. Of course you miss her. Of course you would wish to erase every tree just to look at her. You would not be you, should you feel otherwise – it would be wrong of you to feel differently, Thorin...

\- But I... I should... I should be like you, like Dwalin, like Frerin... I should stop dreaming of Erebor, I should stop thinking that I will only truly reach home the day I will come back, I should be able to be happy with what I have, and...

\- _Marlel_... You are Erebor's Prince and heir. You are a Dwarf – not a Man who changes home as quickly as the weather, when he has taken everything from Nature he was able to get... And every true Dwarf has his One Mountain, will never forget her, and always yearn for her..."

Her voice had turned fierce when she had spoken of Men and I recognized something of Itô, suddenly – for my _batshûna_ had spoken of Men in that tone of contempt, she had crossed many lands and seen many things, and had always hated the way Men just stripped the landscapes off their riches, thinking they ruled Nature, while they were only guests, as we all were...

"Never stop dreaming of Erebor, Thorin, for she is your treasure, and you are her keeper. No one wants you to be different – and everyone is aware of how much you give us and how deeply you love us. Dream of her. Miss her. Mourn for her. But just remember you are not the Mountain yourself – you can move, you are strong, you are brave, and daring, and worthy of a happy life... Do not think you are doomed, Thorin, please... Please, _marlel_ , just try to be happy..."

I dragged her against me then, I buried my face in her hair, feeling her braids against my cheek, closing my eyes fiercely, determined not to cry. She wanted me happy. She was begging me to be happy. And I had sworn to myself I would always grant her every wish – because she never asked, because she was my treasure, because I loved her even more than the Mountain...

"I will...", I whispered. "I promise I will try. Just be patient with me. And don't be angry if I... if I just pretend, for a while. I promise I will get better... I'm just not as quick and wise as you, and Frerin..."

I had pulled away from her and smiled at her – a shy little smile that made her stroke my hair.

"You are my king, Thorin. And you will always be."

And with those words she took my hand and led me among the trees, her fingers entwined with mine – my _mamarlûna_ that was marvelling at the buds, at the snowdrops that were blooming between the roots and the moss, pointing them out to me, comparing them to small bells, and smiling at Dwalin when he plucked three of them and placed them in her hair...

That evening, when we stopped walking and spread our rolls around the fires, I went back to the River to wash – and my heart was free of doubts and guilt, I did not go there to search vainly for my Mountain, because her slopes stood out crystal clear in my mind, and would always be there.

I just went there to wash, and I went with Dwalin, because Frerin and Dáin were too lazy and claimed they had already washed crossing the River, not caring for our teasing, while we had already brought back some water for Dís and the women, making sure they would not have to be exposed on foreign riverbanks.

I laid down my clothes, stripping myself from my boots, my trousers, my breeches, my jerkin and my tunic.

"Turn around...", I said to Dwalin who had done the same, and he obeyed as I took off my shirt, throwing it on my clothes and then getting into the water as soon as I could, still wearing my underpants.

"All right...", I added, and he shook his head with a broad grin.

"Do you know you are a frightful prude, Thorin?

\- I'm not!"

But of course I was making sure water covered me – he was my best friend, he still is, and Mahal knows there have been moments where we were both forced to see the other naked, fragile and exposed because war or sickness had brought us low... But these were extreme moments, and I ever was shy, I had not even shown my full body to Frerin ever since I had left childhood...

"You are, sparrow... And now turn around, just in case I should be a prude as well..."

I turned, and closed my eyes, letting water drench my hair and cover my face – it was cold, but I liked to feel it on my skin, it reminded me of our swimming days with Frerin...

"Thorin..."

I could hear Dwalin's voice from far away, and then suddenly I felt his grasp around my ankle. I jerked up, water splashing around me, ready to ask him why in Durin's name he had just tried to _drown me and ruin the moment_... But Dwalin dragged me closer, and I realized we had drifted off, our clothes were further away than I thought...

"Careful with the current, silly. You said it yourself, we don't know those banks..."

His voice was a bit gruff, and I just nodded, thanking him silently.

"Sorry..."

He grunted, letting go of me, and we both waded closer to the riverbank, grabbing the soap and washing, not really looking at the other yet glad not to be alone.

We were drying ourselves when I heard them. Foreign voices, unknown voices. Speaking about us.

" **I am sure they are Dwarves. They are smaller than Men – and they both look stronger than children**..."

I froze, almost dropping my towel, and Dwalin frowned.

"What is it?"

I raised a hand, trying to find out where those voices came from.

" **He said we should look for a young one. Black hair, blue eyes... and an onyx ring on the left hand... Maybe we should get closer... Maybe we should try and look at his fingers**..."

My eyes widened in fear, then – but I was still able to move my fingers, signalling to Dwalin in Iglishmêk that we were watched.

 _Careful. Voices. Talking about me. Coming closer._

But Dwalin – he did not move, he just looked at me, completely puzzled, and he shook his head as I added:

 _Hear them?_

" **You go. You said you were not afraid.**

 **\- No, you go. You claimed to have the sharpest eyes**..."

 _Right there. Behind me. Hear them?_

Concern was clouding Dwalin's gaze, and I did not like it, it made my heart race – they were so close, I had no weapons, and he did not seem to realize I was serious, for that oaf actually _talked_.

"Thorin, are you alright?"

I tried to shush him, and heard the voices behind me get louder, almost excited:

" **Did you hear that? He called him Thorin, it must be him, we found him, we found him!** "

I dropped my towel then, completely forgetting I was just wearing my pants, while my soaked hair was dripping against my chest. I bent, gathered some rocks and then I said, in the most daring voice I could muster:

"Just come closer, I'm not afraid! Stop hiding, you cowards!

\- Thorin – there are no voices, there's no one there..."

Dwalin's voice was low and I could sense some fear. He had picked up my towel, was wrapping it around my shoulders, but I shook him off, because the voices had risen again:

" **Did he just call us** _ **cowards**_ **? We are no cowards – that's a harsh word, we certainly do not lack courage...**

 **\- Perhaps he meant** _ **you**_ **? Because let me just point out you did not move, when I asked you to take a closer look...**

 **\- I beg your pardon –** _ **you**_ **were the one who froze on your branch, all trembling and afraid...**

 **-** _ **Me**_ **?! I never**..."

I looked up to the pines, desperately trying to discern what creatures were hidden behind the branches – it was clear the voices came from above, now that I was aware of it...

"Stop arguing! Just get down there, or I'll throw these stones at you!

\- Thorin..."

Dwalin had put a hand around my wrist – why was he restraining me, did he not hear them?!

"Thorin, there is no one there... Please, is it an act, or something? Because if it is... it is not funny..."

His voice was shaky and as I met his frightened gaze, my heart skipped a beat – he did not seem to hear them...

" _ **No one there?!**_ **That one must be blind and deaf indeed**..."

I lowered my hand, my lips getting dry.

"Dwalin, please tell me you hear them... Right above us... Two voices."

And as I watched him bit his lip and shake his head, concern showing in every line of his face, I suddenly felt sick. He could not hear them – and he had a strong, sound mind. Meaning I had just lost mine.

" **Of course we are two, we are always together... Enough of idle talking, let us introduce ourselves**..."

And with a fluttering sound, they suddenly left the tree above us, jolting out of the pine, drawing a proud curve in the evening sky, and then settling down on a rock close to the riverbank, facing us, their head tilted and their gaze black.

" **Cornix. And Corwin. Anything but** _ **cowards**_ **, if you please**.

\- _Ravens_..."

I had let out the words in a sigh, almost sagging against Dwalin – I was so relieved I was actually shaking.

" **Begging your pardon, but we are** _ **not**_ **! We are** _ **Crows**_ **, not Ravens**...

\- One can tell...", I growled, suddenly feeling furious.

I picked up my shirt, trying to find back some dignity. I pulled it on, wrung out my hair, and then I faced the Crows again, my gaze even blacker as theirs.

" **Why didn't you show yourselves? Do you know it was incredibly rude to pry upon us like that – I almost threw stones at you, mistaking you for foes!**

 **\- Rude?** _ **Rude**_ **?!** "

I winced as they both began to caw in an upset tone of voice – my head was beginning to ache furiously...

" **All right, I am sorry, I am taking back my words, please just** _ **stop**_ **talking at the same time, it's... it's just unbearable.**

 **\- Well, you are** _ **definitely**_ **rude** ", one of the Crows voiced, in a pinched tone of voice – and Mahal forgive me, I did not care if it was Cornix or Corwin or whatever name the accursed birds who raised them had been mad enough to chose...

I did not answer, I just drew the towel against my waist, searched for my dry underpants, pulled the wet ones off and the dry ones on with fierce moves, and then I slipped into my trousers, wrapping my jerkin around me – I was shaking, I had been so afraid to lose my mind...

But it was obviously Dwalin's turn to doubt his own senses.

He had sat on the ground, gazing at me open-mouthed, and suddenly I had to laugh – it was just too much, him sitting there in his pants, aghast and clearly wondering which one of us was crazy...

I gathered his towel, crouched in front of him and wrapped it around his shoulders, still laughing.

"I'm sorry, Dwalin... I... I... I understand now, it's obvious... I'm so sorry I'm laughing at you, I don't mean to, it's not... not... not your fault, but...

\- Glad you are having such a great time...", he let out, and his voice was hoarse, he was all pale and I felt even more sorry for him.

I rubbed his shoulders, gently, still kneeling in front of him.

"Thorin, you just... I don't know what you did with your voice, but it didn't sound like Khuzdûl, and it didn't sound like Common Tongue. It didn't sound like anything natural. And it definitely... definitely doesn't look natural when you are standing there, facing those... those birds! And it's not funny!"

He was so fierce, poor Dwalin, his bushy eyebrows gathered close and his kind, brown eyes glaring at me... I tried to repress my laughter, but all I could do was drawing my arms around him and pulling him close.

"I'm not laughing at you. I promise I am not. I had just forgotten... I had forgotten I could talk to them and understand them. The Ravens. And the Crows also, _unfortunately_..."

I had whispered the last word close to him, still smiling, and gradually I felt Dwalin's tension ebb.

"You mean... That language I heard you speak... Is it Raven Tongue?"

I nodded, silently, and then I handed him his shirt. Dwalin grabbed it, but did not pull it on.

"But Thorin... That skill was lost long ago, Náin, and Grór, and... all the Dwarves, I thought they were speaking Common Tongue with the Ravens...

\- They are. But... not my father. And not Frerin, and... and me. Pull on your clothes. You are shaking."

I had spoken softly, and got up to gather his clothes for him – he seemed so in awe, so puzzled, and afraid, somehow, he still could not really understand...

"I will explain. I promise, Dwalin. Just let me get rid of those..."

I winked, and then I turned back to the Crows, folding my arms on my chest, trying to suppress my smile – they looked so stiff and full of ruffled dignity, perched upon their stone...

" **I am sorry. I did not mean to be rude – I just had to explain who you were to my friend. I am Thorin – I think you have been looking for me, but I would like to know who is the one sending you...**

 **-** _ **Sending**_ **us?**

 **\- We are no letters – we are** _ **birds**_ **! Sending us indeed!**

 **\- Who told you I have this ring?** ", I asked, mustering all the calm and patience I possessed. " **Who asked you to look for me?** "

They took their time to answer – those birds were so stuffed with silly pride I really struggled with the idea of throwing something at them, not a stone, maybe, but perhaps splashing some water upon them...

But I was rewarded when they answered – I actually had to sit down, slowly, feeling my legs begin to shake.

" **Roäc did. Roäc asked every Raven, Crow and Sparrow to look out for you – so that he could find you.**

 **\- Roäc... is alive?** "

I had breathed out those words, pressing my palms against the ground – my head was spinning, it felt like racing back in time, because suddenly I was brought back to the Mountain, to Erebor and its cool slopes, and to Ravenhill...

.

 _I was just a boy, when we first met._

 _My hair was unbraided yet, and my father had made me rise with the sun. I was already waiting for him, sitting awake in the bed – I was so small he still had to help me with my jerkin and my belt..._

 _He took my hand and led me out of Erebor – I can still hear the echo of his footsteps on the stone, sure and even... And mine, lighter and hurried, determined to keep up..._

 _We left the Mountain as the sun was sending its first rays on her cool slopes – and then we walked, between rock and stone, to reach Ravenhill. We did not talk – we simply walked. And I remember looking up to him when he stopped, close to the tower's door, and turned towards me._

" _Come along,_ dashat _. Don't be scared."_

 _I was not – not really. I was just in awe of that cold, tall tower, of the deafening sound the waterfall voiced as it fell – it was summer, that day, I remember warmth, and the smell of sun-baked earth, and yet it was the same place where I am stretched now, in snow and silence..._

 _My father looked up to the tower and spoke – but I did not understand him. He was speaking a language I had never heard before – it was not Khuzdûl, and it was not Common Tongue either..._

 _His voice was low, but there was intensity in his speech, and it made his eye shine – how grave he looked and yet, how much he revelled in what he was showing to me at last..._

 _I heard noises, suddenly, a flutter of wings, and excited caws – and my father laughed when I reached for his waist, hiding my face in his chest._

" _ **You are frightening my son**_ _...", he voiced, his hand finding my head, brushing my locks. "_ _ **Be gentle. He is young still...**_

 _ **\- Young he looks indeed.**_ _.."_

 _And I was so young I did not notice – did not marvel at the fact that my father was still speaking in that strange, foreign language, but that I suddenly_ understood _it..._

" _ **You were not scared when you first came here.**_

 _ **\- I was older**_ _."_

 _There was a smile in my father's voice – a smile that spoke of long-lasting friendship, of remembrances that covered decades..._

" _ **But you were alone.**_

 _ **\- I was lonely, Carc. It atones for my courage...**_

 _ **\- Well, you are not lonely anymore**_ _..."_

 _The strange voice had softened – I was still clinging to my father, but somehow I felt able to move, raising my face slowly, and looking around me._

 _The Hill I had seen baked in sun, housing the tall, cold tower was now black. They had come out, were perched everywhere around us, on the hills, upon the tower, at our feet..._

"Bahazanâsh _...", my father voiced softly._

 _Ravens._

 _I had seen them engraved upon our shields. I had heard my mother call me her little Raven-haired Prince. But I had never seen them – had never been able to look at them for real until that day, that day that was also the first day I had left the Mountain._

 _One of them was facing my father, perched on a tall rock – and I knew instantly that the strange voice belonged to him. His feathers were black still, as were his eyes – but there was wisdom in them, betraying his age._

 _He was taking me in, backed up against my father – Thráin had drawn his arms around my waist, and my locks mingled with his beard, both dark, his beard carefully woven, and my hair still unruly._

" _ **On which moon did you tell me he hatched, Thráin**_ _?_

 _\- '_ Aftharn _...", my father answered, unmoved by his strange words._

" _ **So it would seem... You have daring eyes, Thráinson. You have been well named...**_

 _ **\- How do you know my name?**_ _", I asked – and after that I froze, and looked up to my father, astonished, almost upset, for the words that had left my lips were unknown to me..._

 _The Ravens around us moved, their wings fluttering again in delight._

" _ **He speaks it... He speaks it**_ _..."_

 _My father smiled at me, pulled back one of my locks, and bent down to kiss me – I was so small, and he was so proud..._

" _He knows it because I told him. As I promised him you would speak his language, as soon as he would revel himself to you. This is Carc, Thorin, lord of the Ravens of Erebor – and he is the eldest friend I have got."_

 _I bowed, and Carc the Raven tilted his head slightly._

" _ **Do not seek why your mouth forms bridges between us. Rejoice, Thráinson – for our hearts are full of glee in welcoming you here**_ _."_

 _We entered the tower afterwards, my father and me – and I was surprised, because it was empty, void of guards, of weapons, there were only Ravens housing here…_

" _But how can it be a watchtower, '_ adad _...?"_

 _I had spoken in Khuzdûl, but Carc still answered:_

" _ **We are keeping watch here, young Prince**_ _..."_

 _I was silenced, then. And when my father took me to the top of the tower, and showed me the small Ravens that had just hatched, and were clustered to each other, barely feathered yet... That is when I smiled at last – they were so small, so cute..._

" _ **What is ailing him?**_ _"_

 _My father had asked in a concerned voice, looking at a small hatchling, who was bedded in straw, alone, away from the others._

" _ **That one was too daring. He hatched early. We are not confident.**_

 _ **\- He is cold**_ _..."_

 _I had bent upon the straw, looking at the hatchling, taking in his bare skin where no feather could be seen, and that I could see quiver slightly. He was Carc's first hatchling – the Raven lord had taken wife late, and joy was already mingled with sorrow, because he had no hope for his eldest's life... but back then I did not know it, did not even bother to ask, I was just a small child looking at a little bird._

" _ **He is cold, that's all**_ _..."_

 _I extended my hand then, unaware of Carc's surprised look – my small fingers closed around the hatchling with care, taking some straw with me, so as not to disturb his rest._

 _And then I placed him against my chest, wrapping my tunic around him, cupping him with my palm, feeling his small body gave a small start, and then nestle close to me._

" _ **What is his name?**_ _", I asked, and I was smiling – I did not know death back then, all I could see was a sweet little bird that was yet too small to talk, just like my younger brother..._

" _ **We did not name him. Names are full of hope, and we have few.**_

 _ **\- I think you should name him. How else is he supposed to know he has to wake up, if you don't call him?**_ _"_

 _I was stroking the little Raven, my eyes shining – and I did not notice the silence around me, I was so happy, so carefree and innocent..._

" _ **How will you know it's much more interesting when you're not asleep, eh, little Raven? Why do you keep your eyes shut, when you could fly around and tell me what's going on in Dale, because I still can't get there... I wish I could get there... I wish you were big, so big that I could climb on your back and just fly there**_ _..."_

 _I was still talking to him while I climbed down the stairs, carefully – I was not paying attention to anyone anymore, my heart was full of that little bird, and no one asked me to place him back into the straw._

 _I kept him against me the whole day – I skipped training, asked my mother for some warm shreds of fabric I could wrap around him, and only placed him in a little box with straw and wool because she pointed out I would crush him in my sleep..._

 _I spent a whole week holding him against me, even while I ate – it made my grandfather huff, but my father let me. And when he opened his eyes and gave his first, shy little cry I smiled again._

" _ **Roäc. I will call you Roäc, because that's how you sound**_ _."_

 _I did not need my father to climb back to Ravenhill – I carried my little friend back to his kin, still featherless, still small and fragile, but alive, with a name and a long life before him._

 _And I went to see him afterwards, nearly every day, until I was sure Roäc would live, to become the Raven prince he was supposed to be... Even when he was no hatchling anymore, when his dark feathers began to grow while my father placed the first hair clasps in my hair, I still would go there with Frerin._

 _Frerin who was not even astonished to discover he could talk to Ravens, and who sat down among them and began to ask them a thousand questions, causing them to caw in what has ever been the closest sound to laughter I have ever heard birds voicing..._

 _._

" **Of course he is!** "

The shrill voice brought me back to the present and I almost gave a start.

" **Roäc, and Carc, and the Ravens, they are all alive, they left that strange Mountain where they persisted in keeping watch, for the** _ **Ered Luin**_ **... They claim they saw a** _ **Dragon**_ **, though I must say...**

 **\- Though I really must say I doubt them, the way they always have to draw attention towards them, just because they are** _ **Ravens**_ **...**

 **\- Please**..."

My voice was still faint, I did not really bother to chide them, or to correct their silly, prejudiced notions of what had happened – I was just overwhelmed to know that something of Erebor had survived indeed, that my people were not the only wanderers from the Lonely Mountain...

" **Please would you be so kind... Would you do me the honour to fly back to Roäc and tell him you have found me? Tell him Thorin is still close to the River Running, that he won't leave its banks for several days, so that Roäc can find him... Would you please grant me that favour...?** "

And what did I care that they were Crows, and did barely understand who I was – I had tears in my eyes as I asked, as I spoke the name of my old, dear friend...

" **Well... We certainly can...**

 **\- We certainly will...**

 **\- We have never ever been addressed as civilly...**

 **\- It will be an honour...**

 **\- A favour...**

 **\- A pleasure indeed!**

 **\- Rest assured, Dwarf, Corwin will fly to Roäc...**

 **\- As will Cornix, do not fret.**.."

I stopped listening, then, I just made sure to thank them – and when they finally flew away, when I saw them dart into the sky and heard the frantic fluttering of their wings, knowing they were carrying my message away... I just dragged my knees against my chest, buried my face in my arms, and cried.

I cried in sheer joy – and it was such an incredible feeling, that pure, wonderful joy to know that my friend had survived, that Roäc would soon be there, that I would touch his black feathers once more and be able to ask him what happened, to share my memories with him...

"Hey..."

Dwalin's arm around my shoulders, once more, always caring... I turned towards him, I hugged him, still crying – I did not hide my face this time, those were tears of joy I just wanted to share...

"What's wrong? What did those stupid birds tell you?

\- Nothing is wrong... They told me something wonderful..."

And it took me a while to explain it to him, to tell him about Roäc, and Carc, and that wonderful bond with the Ravens I shared with my father, and to a certain extent with my brother...

"Roäc is nothing like those Crows. He is smart, he is brave, and he speaks many languages, just like his father – Common Tongue, Khuzdûl, and of course Raven Tongue...

\- A bit like you, then...", Dwalin voiced softly, and I pulled away, wiping my face, still feeling shaky.

"Well... Roäc knows more of the world, because Ravens fly and come back with news and knowledge... I think Roäc has been travelling much more than I have – though he never really told me much, he said it was much better to discover it on my own... Sometimes he could be so secretive..."

Dwalin laughed softly, and I looked up at him.

"What?

\- Well... You don't lack secrets either! Durin's beard, I won't forget that, rest assured – you facing those birds, barely dressed, yelling at them in that strange language... Oh Mahal, Thorin, really, I'm so glad I left the Hills, be it only to witness that!"

He was still laughing when we left the River, and I did not even mind, I just ran back to find my father, and Frerin, and Dís, telling them about the Ravens, my eyes bright – I was so happy...

And Thráin smiled – a real, deep smile, pulling me close to him and hugging me, pressing a kiss on my forehead.

"Well done, _dashat_. Well done."

And then he whispered in Raven Tongue to me:

" **Ask him about the road. No need for scouts, if you have Roäc**..."

I felt a shiver run through my spine – I had not thought about that, and it was such a bright idea, so full of hope, and so shrewd... I pulled back, I looked at my father, taking in his face, his gaze – could it be that his mind was mending, that he was somehow coming back to himself, now that he realized we were back on the road and that there was no other alternative than moving on...?

Thráin smiled at me, and pulled me close again.

"My little raven-haired Prince...", he murmured, rocking me gently.

And I nestled against him – my father who had been such a lonely boy, long ago in Erebor, that Mahal had pitied him, awakening a long-forgotten blessing, making him able to talk with the Ravens, revelling in their friendship, dreaming himself away through them...

I was not sure his mind was mending. I was not sure it could ever be mended – he had suffered so much, had been so broken, had lost so much and was still so fragile...

But I was so proud of being his son. I was so proud to know I did not only share rage, fire and losses with him – there was also that secret, that wonderful gift that came with being _his_ son...

I would hope.

As I let myself be rocked by my father, settling into his warm embrace, I swore to myself I would hope. I would wait for Roäc – I would wait for my old friend to join me, and to help me with the road that lay ahead.

If Mahal had saved Roäc, Mahal could also bring back my father. My wonderful father, Erebor's first raven-haired Prince, so brave, so caring, so intent and loving.

I would hope for Thráin, and wait for Roäc.

* * *

 **Neo-Khuzdûl translations** :

\- _mamarlûna_ : you who are loved, Thorin's nickname for Dís.

\- _dashat_ : son.


	3. Chapter 3

**The King of Carven Stone : Part V**

 **A Craft In Itself (Journey to Dunland)**

 **3.**

I would always guess it, the precise moment when he would arrive – those seconds where I felt a small tug in my chest, where I would hold still and then raise my head, searching for the sky. His flight was almost noiseless – he was graceful and strong, mastering the wind just like we reigned in stone and fire. There was this light breath of air against my cheek, playing with my locks, a silent command for me to be ready, and hold out my arm for him...

That day was not different.

We had moved on, still following the River, and were close to reach the Elvenking's Forest. As much as I hated the thought of reaching that realm – the main memory of that ageless face looking down at us while Erebor burned being enough to set my blood ablaze – I was beginning to think the trees would be a welcome shelter, because the rain had not stopped for three full days.

Not the honest, plain and straightforward rain that drenches the earth, fulfilling its nourishing role, and eventually emptying the clouds of their wrath – it was that sly, treacherous rain that looked like a mere drizzle, and still managed to drench us and chill us to the bone.

We had been forced to mount the tents every night, and the damp and cold were annoying almost everybody. My grandfather walked in brisk steps, barking his orders, Náin's men pulled the carts, their faces grim, Óin was grumbling softly, looking at the sky, while my father was walking quietly, often carrying Dís, sheltering her in his wide fur coat so that she could stay warm.

He was singing to her, softly – songs I recognized from my childhood, for they had also helped to lull me to sleep in my own time. And often Dís' eyes would close indeed, overwhelmed as she was by everything she was seeing, by days and days of hard walking – the rain did not trouble her, my sweet little sister, nestled against my father's chest. And neither did it unsettle Thráin.

As for my brother, after several hours spent in trying to cheer up Dáin who saw the rain as a personal outrage, he had given up and was amusing himself alone. Jumping into pools, proud to declare his boots were not even wet inside. Sloshing mud towards the trees, a sheepish grin on his face as he saw how high his kicks caused the mud to rise, splashing against the trunks. Walking with his face towards the sky, open-mouthed, to see how the rain tasted that day.

And I kept telling myself that he was ridiculous and childish, that I really had to rein him in – the sight of him, his trousers inches covered in mud, his cheeks wet with rain as he gaped at the sky... Mahal, what could I do but laugh indeed, he was so sunny, always making the best of every greyish situation...

Of course he paid for it in the evening. Once the tents were mounted and we were all ready to undress and have some rest, I realized Frerin was so cold that he could barely manage to open his bag. His little fingers were numb, his whole body was drenched and his hair was dripping on his bag as he frowned, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

"If you go on like this, you'll be sneezing soon...", I said, having put down my own bag and removed my boots.

"Pull those off."

I had pointed to his own boots, and then I opened his bag. I shook my head when I saw its state – clothes balled and stuffed inside without a second thought, his towel not better, stained with soap because it had slipped from its box.

"Mahal, _kudz_ , you cannot travel like that!"

And what did I care for Dáin and Dwalin's broad grin that soon turned into laughter – I pulled out every single cloth from Frerin's bag, tossing them on the ground, searching for clean and dry clothes.

In the end I gave up. By then my cousins were holding each other to keep seated, tears of laughter running down their cheeks, and Frerin was still shaking, his face a mixture of shame and helplessness.

I undid his belt, pulled his wet clothes from him, and rubbed him dry with my own towel, not caring for his half-articulated protests – his teeth were chattering too much. I made him pull on one of my shirts, his other pair of trousers and a pair of my socks, before wrapping him up in his blanket, still brushing his back and shoulders.

"Can you do that for me as well, Thorin, please?"

Dáin was hiccuping with laughter but I ignored him, I was waiting for Frerin to stop shaking and then – Mahal, he would hear me, it was the last time I would help him out like that...

"I-I-It feels better now..."

Frerin's voice was tiny and he turned to face me. He still looked cold and suddenly I could not bring myself to yell at him – he was just a little boy, after all, had spent all these past days with Dáin who was certainly not one to remind him how to take care of his things...

" _Kudz_ , you cannot... You have to grow up a bit, you understand? You have to take care of yourself alone, make sure you always have something dry and clean so that you don't let the cold have the better of you. You really have to, because no one else will. We are not in Erebor, we are not in the Hills. Here, if there is no towel, no dry shirt, you can go on shivering and catching death, no one will care.

\- You had no right to search my bag!", Frerin replied, and he had tears in his eyes. "And it's not even true, what you say! I won't catch death and people _do_ care! And my things are clean! I washed them myself! They are just wet because nothing dries with that rain, while yours are only dry because you did not even think of washing them!

\- I did", I answered patiently. "But I spread them close to the fire during the night, and I don't wash them all at once so that nothing dries and soaks everything in my bag..."

I was still holding him, and I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close – I did not want to humiliate him, I just wanted to help him and make him understand that he had to be the first to take care of himself...

"Everybody learns, _kudz_ , it's all right..."

He was getting warmer now – and suddenly I could not stand Dáin's laughter. Mahal, Frerin was but a boy, he could have made sure he was fine and helped him out, at least a bit...

"Dáin, if you do not stop laughing straight away, I swear by Mahal that I will open your bag and see how _you_ are doing!"

My voice had turned fierce, and my cousin's laughter ebbed instantly – I guess I had struck the right chord indeed.

"Oí, you're not my mum, right?!

\- No, thank Mahal I'm not", I growled back. "You'd probably drive me mad!

\- Well you are already!"

His words hit me full in the chest and I froze, turning pale, while Frerin's grip around me tightened.

"I beg your pardon?", I asked, with a voice so low that it was almost a whisper, as Dáin went on:

"Thinking you can talk to Ravens, while everybody knows that skill was lost! Waiting for your friend the Crow, thinking he'll tell you everything...

\- Roäc is a Raven...", I said. "And you..."

I shook my head, I was tired of them all, suddenly – I freed myself from Frerin's embrace and got up, reaching for my boots, not even bothering to take my coat, I just wanted to be out, away from them and alone.

"Thorin, don't be silly..."

Dwalin's voice echoed behind me as I left the tent, but I did not even care to turn around.

"Save those words for Dáin", I growled, and then I left.

The rain's faint drizzle met my face at once and I relished it. I did not care to be cold, or wet – no one would talk to me outside, everybody save those on guard were in the tents, and I relished it.

I walked towards the edge of the camp, looking at the River that was shivering under the rain, barely visible now that daylight was fading. There was a pool of rain at my feet, only two steps away, and I stared at it grimly, my fists clenched, gauging it for some seconds.

And then I jumped, imagining it was Dáin, or at least that Dáin was close and would be covered in mud. Water splashed around me, drenched the grass, my weight and my boots mightier than stone, and I smiled.

A soft chuckle behind me startled me, I turned, my smile fading – but it was Balin. He had sat on a rock, and I had not noticed him because he ever was gifted in staying motionless, his frame almost melting with the stone, lulling foes into false safety.

"Neat footwork to witness, laddie..."

I sloshed out of the pool as fast as I could and Balin patted the remaining space on the stone next to him.

"No means to light a pipe tonight – I could do with some company..."

I sat down next to him, still feeling ashamed, and he immediately unlaced his fur coat, wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me close, making sure the coat covered me too.

"You won't be able to reach for your sword...", I whispered, but I leant against him nonetheless – his hard chainmail, the warmth of his coat, it was exactly what I needed right now.

"Doesn't matter, lad. I have you with me, have I not?"

I gave him a half smile, and for a while we both gazed at the River silently, listening to the night's noises – an owl's cry, every now and then, the cracking of branches and the roaring of the water.

"So, laddie – why so grim? It's not the rain, surely, you never were one to mind drops, always out there with me..."

He rubbed my forehead with his temple – and it reminded me of Erebor, of these many night watches on my beloved ramparts where I had so often stood next to him... I did as I used to, then, when I was but a child trying to keep my eyes open in the cold – I placed my hands between his chainmail and his beautiful, thick beard, and suddenly I was warm, I felt sheltered, and Dáin's words lost some of their power...

"I just... don't manage with people, Balin. I wish I could be like you – everybody listen when you speak, and everybody likes you.

\- Oh laddie, I wish it was true...", Balin chuckled. "I do not have as much luck with others as I have with you... You listen indeed, lad, once the first storm has passed, and I'm lucky to have your love, but it does not mean I have everybody's. I was not even half of the Dwarf you see, when I was your age...

\- I don't believe that...", I said, shaking my head so that our braids mingled. "You must have been so smart, Balin...

\- Oh, I was, lad, and it made me pretty lonely. See, knowledge, now that's a strange gift indeed... One craves for it, one cannot get enough of it – but to share it, oh, that is a peril one cannot undergo lightly...

\- I don't understand", I said, my voice low, and Balin's grip around me tightened as he smiled at me.

"What I mean is... See, lad, if you know things about the world, or about other cultures, and try to talk about it with people whose main goal is to keep exactly as they are – do you honestly think they listen? It's just unsettling them, they don't bother, and their best defence is to laugh at you... And if they are interested indeed, you still have to look out for the jealous ones, those who resent you for knowing more than they do, even though you never dreamt to look down on them... When I was your age, laddie, I did not really like people – it took me ages to understand it was better to keep silent about knowledge as long as it was not asked for, and to adapt. Perfect other skills, such as fighting and forging. Of course, it was before I met your father..."

He smiled again, and I looked up at him, feeling my throat tighten – I could see him indeed as he was before, my father, so strong and able, so full of knowledge, and yet so sensitive...

"When I finally got to know him – oh Thorin, how my life changed then... For the first time, I had somebody who matched me in absolute every field – not only about iron, or strategy, but also about culture, and history, and languages... Someone who looked perfectly balanced to me – a warrior and a scholar...

\- But he was not balanced", I said sadly. "He just pretended to be."

There were tears in my eyes, and Balin stroked my hair gently.

"Don't we all pretend, Thorin? It's a daily struggle, to keep balanced, laddie – but I guess the key to achieve it is to make sure you do not repress who you truly are. If you want to jump into pools, do it, lad. And if you relish in talking to Ravens, don't restrain yourself because it unsettle others...

\- How do you know Dáin and me argued about Roäc?", I asked, and Balin smiled once more.

"I did not. I just see you search for the sky with your Soul in your eyes – and I do know how much awe I felt whenever I heard your father speak to Carc... Of course there will be some slight jealousy, even among Durin cousins...

\- You think Dáin is jealous?", I asked, and the thought made me break free from Balin, to cast an incredulous look upon him. "Why in Durin's name would he be?

\- I would not know, Thorin. Perhaps he is not. But Dáin is a strong, brave lad who is very proud of his Hills, and has always been admired there. And suddenly, there you come... You, who have fought and led while he could only stay at home... You, who assisted a Dwarven council while he had to wait for his father to tell him what had been decided... You, who Dwalin is following when he has always stayed with Dáin... You, able to speak to Ravens when that skill is lost to everybody but Thráin's branch... Perhaps this is a bit much, even for a straightforward lad as him...

\- I did not mean to take Dwalin away from him...", I said softly. "I did not mean for anything to happen as it did. I don't even want to be me, Balin, why can't he see it? Sometimes I wish I could go to sleep and just never wake up. Not until I'm at least a hundred years old, and have nothing to prove to anyone anymore...

\- Now like that you would miss many lovely things, laddie", Balin answered, still stroking my head. "And we would miss you too, very cruelly. I know it's hard, lad. But everybody has to live life day after day, and year after year, otherwise you do not grow up, you would just flee, don't you think?

\- I don't know..."

My voice was low, my hands were still sheltered below his beard, and I could feel my eyelids getting heavy – still I pondered his words: was it fleeing indeed, to wish to grow up faster...?

"Well, I think my little Thorin is just tired and cold, now... How about getting back under your blankets, laddie? You don't have to stay out there, that's one of the good things in being a lad still...

\- No, I want to stay with you.

\- Well, at least the rain has stopped..."

He did not push me away. He kept me close to him, brushing my hair every now and then, and I just looked at the River, feeling my body getting numb and heavy against Balin but determined to keep my eyes open – I did not want to get back into that tent, not yet...

"Got yourself some company, Balin?"

Dagur's gruff voice stirred me from my half-slumber. It was dark and late, and Balin's shift had ended – I had not been of much use to him, but we had kept each other warm, and Balin smiled as he freed me from his embrace.

"Guess you won't stay with me, lad, eh? Come on, get yourself back into bed, long day ahead tomorrow, we'll reach that accursed forest at last, won't want to miss that...

\- Go, Thorin...", Balin whispered, pushing me towards the tents, and I obeyed.

My body was stiff and sore, and it was cold outside – I could finally see some attraction in that tent, and I entered it swiftly and silently, taking off my boots, as soon as I passed the threshold, determined not to wake anyone up.

I knelt down, only to find that someone had already spread out my sleeping roll, and unfolded my blanket. I could hear my cousins snore, and Frerin's even breath, and I shivered slightly as I finally pulled off my clothes, only keeping my shirt, slipping under my blanket.

I raised my knees, curling up against the cold, and I had already closed my eyes when I felt warm and tiny fingers search for my body.

"Thorin...?", my brother whispered as his hand found mine.

"Are you still mad at me?"

I brushed his fingers then, and moments after there he was, wrapping his arms around me, spreading his blanket on us both and simply holding me.

"Your skin is icy... You did not even take your fur coat... I was worried for you, where have you been? Why don't you talk back, Thorin?

\- Because you keep chatting when I want to sleep..."

He froze then, my little brother, and I immediately added, bending towards him and tickling his braids with my breath:

"And because I love to listen to you, _kudz_...

\- The clothes are all spread out...", Frerin breathed out, careful not to wake the others. "I did as you said. I even spread out your coat. I am sorry, Thorin.

\- Don't be. I'm glad you are warmer.

\- That's because I'm wearing your shirt."

I smiled in the darkness, feeling his warmth spread against my chest and legs, radiating from the places where our bodies touched.

"You were right, though, Thorin."

Frerin's voice was still not above a tiny whisper, but I could feel the earnestness in his words, and I turned slightly to face him. It was so dark that I could not distinguish more than shadows, and I had to raise a hand and outline his face with my fingertips.

"If I look thoroughly... nobody cares."

I frowned, still brushing his cheek, but Frerin went on:

"Nobody cares but you."

There was such fervour in his words, but they sounded so sad...

"That is not true...", I whispered. "Everybody loves you, because you are a ray of sunshine, _kudzaduz_."

But my words only caused a tear to fall, silently meeting my thumb.

"But you are the only one who cares when I don't shine. The others just laugh when I mess up, thinking it was only expected of me, and when I'm sad or angry they don't even notice. I'm just there for making people laugh. That's the only thing I'm good at...

\- Don't say such things..."

I was holding him close, trying to brush his tears away.

"Please don't. It is not true. You are one of the strongest and bravest persons I know because... because you have so much energy. I know how hard it is to smile when it is just raining upon us, how hard it is to cope with everything, and you never, ever complain... You make it so easy for me – you make me try hard to be as brave, to see the world as you do, even though I know I probably never will... I never meant to make you think you are not able, I just want you to stay warm, always.

\- I know... That's what I meant. You are the only one who truly sees me. For the others, I'm just a smiling face, and it doesn't matter if I'm here or not...

\- Not for Dís and _'adad_. Not for anyone... Frerin, how can you say that? Dáin...

\- Don't talk to me about Dáin. I'm not speaking to him anymore. I'm done with him."

I shifted slightly, so that he could rest his head on my chest, as usual. He was tense and fierce, so unlike himself, and I could feel his silent sobs as I brushed his back.

"What in Durin's name is that supposed to mean, _kudz_?

\- What I said. I'm done with him."

I waited – it was the only thing I could do save stroking his hair.

"He insulted you. He even abused you, called you a liar because you said you could talk to Ravens. So I yelled at him – I told him you _could_ speak Raven-tongue, and that I could too, but he only laughed when I showed him some words, saying I sounded like an old wench with a cold... Then I told him I would never ever speak to him again before he took back all his words about you, but he laughed. He said he did not care, and that silence would be a welcome change."

He had another soft sob, and then he went on:

"See...? I have spent so many weeks with him, I thought I finally managed to find someone who really liked me, not because I'm a Prince, or your brother, just because I'm me. I told him so many things about me, about you as well, he knows how much I... how I never could do without you... And then – he insults you, and... and me as well... And here I am again, clinging at you and crying. I'm so useless and stupid, Thorin..."

His hurt was also my hurt, I could not bear to see him so sad and broken, it made my own chest quiver, and my grip around him even stronger. I almost crushed him against me, and Frerin seemed to find comfort in it, for he also held me tighter.

"We should both learn – we should both learn not to take Dáin's words too seriously, Frerin", I said eventually, almost haltingly. "I don't think he really means to hurt, when he says such things. He's just tired, and bored, and angry because of me – it has nothing to do with you. And I'm sure – I'm sure he'll try to make amends with you tomorrow, because he really loves you.

\- But I won't speak to him until he makes amends with _you_.

\- You don't have to be like this, Frerin. You don't have to shut yourself away from people just because they have issues with me.

\- If they have issues with you, they have issues with me", Frerin said stubbornly. "What when you will be King? Will he still insult you like that, just because he's jealous and thick-headed and moody?"

I had to smile at such a description of Dáin – unfair, yet not entirely wrong – and eventually I bent, touching foreheads with him.

"It's just that... he never had a brother, see? So he doesn't understand what it feels like. It's a craft in itself, to take care of your brother, we both know that, don't we?"

Frerin brushed his cheeks, wiping his tears away.

"Sure. And you're a master in that craft, Thorin...

\- As you are... Who's warming up my feet right now? Who's making sure I don't get a single minute of sleep so that we both make the most of that chilly night?"

He had a soft laugh and I could feel his body relax at last.

"Dwalin also told me not to mind Dáin. It was Dwalin who called him thick-headed and moody – he wanted to help me with my clothes, but I did not let him. I don't want any help... except yours. You are the only one who truly knows me, and there's no one I trust and love more. I told them so – after that they were silent."

He nestled against my chest, making himself more comfortable, and he did not notice that I too was silent, struck mute by so much love and faith, even after so many sorrows.

"Are you warm now, Thorin?

\- I am...", I whispered, and Frerin sighed.

"Good."

His embrace was slackening slowly as he fell asleep, while I kept staring at the shadows, thinking of his words, and of Balin's words – thinking of Dáin as well, wondering what I should do, how I could be on friendly terms with him again, I did not want us to fight, I did not want him to be jealous, I wanted everything to be simple, why in Mahal's name was it so hard to achieve...?

"Up there, lazy ones..."

I had fallen asleep only a couple of hours ago, and I groaned as my cousin shook me awake – my eyes burnt, I just wanted to sleep...

"Come on, Thorin, time to eat..."

Dáin was facing me, and there was laughter in his eyes as he took me in – I was dishevelled and tired, just like Frerin. I sat up, and my brother clung to me, looking at Dáin with fierce eyes.

"The sun is shining outside...", Dáin said, reaching out for Frerin's arm who jerked away, almost knocking me down.

" _Kudz_ , don't..."

I yawned, and then I looked at them both – Frerin grim and fierce, still holding me, and Dáin looking embarrassed, yet still smiling.

"Mahal, just sort it out between yourselves, would you?"

I pushed Frerin away, gently, and then I fell back against my roll, hiding under my blanket, closing my eyes – I just wanted to sleep a bit more, my body was still sore...

"Hey!"

Frerin shook me, and Dáin removed my blanket – I let out another groan, and then resigned myself to facing them, still lying on the ground.

"It won't work that way! He has to say he's sorry to you, not to me!

\- We both fought because of you!

\- Look, I'm the one sorry here. Just stop arguing, would you? I don't care for what happened yesterday, all right?"

They both looked at each other, and I could see a half smile begin to spread on Frerin's lips – and another lighting Dáin's eyes. But my relief was short, for I should have known better: seconds after they both leapt at me, tickling me, Dáin holding me while Frerin grasped for my chest, and when they finally let go I was breathless, close to begging... and definitely awake.

I watched them leave the tent, their arms entwined – and then I got up myself, stretching my limbs, reaching for my clothes, and dressing slowly. I was braiding my hair when Dwalin came, and I just smiled at him.

"Where have you been?", he asked quietly.

"With Balin. Keeping watch tor a while. Talking.

\- About what?"

I shrugged my shoulders, and Dwalin let go – it was always easy with him, he was certainly not one to lose time with jealousy issues. He simply waited for me to be done, handing me my fur coat before we left the tent – and it was dry and warm indeed, I wrapped myself in it gratefully, sitting down with the others around the fire.

I was finishing breakfast when he finally came.

Suddenly the air around me seemed to grow still and I stiffened, laying down my plate and brushing the crumbs from my palms. I stood up slowly, whispering his name – I walked away from the fire, searching for the sky, not caring for my cousin's perplexed looks, and then I extended my arm and suddenly there he was.

His hard claws clasped my forearm but it did not hurt – it never hurt, Roäc ever was careful, always seemed so light, and yet he was strong and tall for a Raven, his black eyes bright and changing like the noblest of onyx gems...

I did not touch him – I knew better. Roäc was a Raven-lord, not my pet, and the days where he had needed my warmth were long gone – my throat was tight and I think I was shaking, still I did not touch him, I just said his name again, softly, and then I greeted him.

" **May the wind ever carry you swiftly, my friend.**

 **\- And may your days ever be lighted, Thorin son of Thráin.** "

His voice was even, fresh as a gush of winter-wind, and I had missed it so much – somehow it still spoke of home, of long-past days where I would come and tell him of what I had learnt, while he would listen patiently, occasionally perching himself on my shoulders. On special days, he would even rub his head against my cheek – and his feathers ever had that soft and cool touch reminding me of clouds...

" **I wish I had found you sooner, Thorin. Fire parted us, and I can see you have been cold. You have faced icy days, on that road, and I was not there. I hope you will forgive me.** "

He shifted slightly on my forearm, and his claws embraced my wrist with such care that I had to look away. I had him all for myself, I was away from the fire – and the other Dwarves were too stunned by his arrival to come and search for me.

" **You were powerless against that Fire. I am glad you escaped. I hope all the Ravens escaped**.

\- **There have been deaths...** ", Roäc answered, his voice as even as mine, despite our grief. " **Yet as soon as my father understood what was coming, he made us all leave the Mountain. Faced with such Fire, there was nothing else to be done, Thorin, and yet I wished he had let me remain. I have thought of you every day, my friend.**

 **\- You had to lead your people to safety...** "

I had whispered these words, and as I did so a tear made its way down my cheek at last. My face was still averted, and Roäc gently left my forearm for my shoulder. His head met my cheek, and it was as I remembered it – so soft for so strong a Raven, moist with raindrops that shone like pearls on his brow.

" **It is as we feared, then, Thorin... It was your steps they followed, that winter – your will that urged everybody forward**."

He did not mind my tears – he was sorry for them, determined to keep them between us. I had walked away, I did not want my father to hear my words – and yet I still had to say them, I could not let Roäc ignore such sad truths.

" **Erebor has crumbled... but, Roäc... I think... I think it also destroyed my father... and my grandfather**..."

I had never said such words aloud, and another tear met my dear friend's feathers, yet Roäc's head never left my cheek.

" **The King under the Mountain has long been acting strange, Thorin. It grieves me to hear he has not been able to fight back madness, but it does not surprise me. Thráin and my father have long known how fragile Erebor's head truly was.**

 **\- He should have told me... He should have asked me for help... If he had not been alone to carry that burden, perhaps he would have... Perhaps he still would be...**

 **\- There was nothing more you could do, Thorin. You have always been there. You never left his side. You, your brother, your sister – his children have always been Thráin's pride and joy. You never added a cloud to his troubled mind – you helped keeping them at bay. You still do... I am only sorry to see you have been so cold**..."

I brushed my eyes, then, and my fingertips met his feathers. I was just a boy, facing a grown-up Raven, and the wisdom and compassion in his dark eyes seemed infinite.

" **I am warmer now, Roäc. I am not alone. I am going to work very hard – so hard that no one will ever have to be cold again. There will be fires, and forges roaring again, one day – and I do not care how long it takes. We will endure, and one day we will be mighty again, I promise you.**

 **\- And I will help you, my friend.** "

I smiled at him, then, and Roäc touched my cheek one last time, before perching himself on my wrist again.

I told him about the Crows, then, and he smiled as I described him our encounter. He told me how he had fared, as well, how the Ered Luin were a much smaller realm than Erebor, their Mountains softer, and without many riches, but where Dwarves still had a willing heart and had looked at the Ravens' arrival with pleasure...

" **These are poor lands that dearly need a King, Thorin... But you should not go there. Not yet. Let Men be the ones you trade and work with, for a while – it will be a hard life, but you will find some treasures there still, I am sure**."

How my heart warmed at these words... I had such desperate need to know we were taking the right course, that we would not be lost and doomed, following my grandfather's strange ideas...

And Roäc's advice ever was precious. He would stay at our side the whole journey to Dunland – it had been his own private oath to offer his service to me until he was sure I had settled down once more, and I never could thank him enough for it.

Somehow, Roäc's arrival soothed everyone – disbelief and jealousy were all forgotten, because Roäc looked at every Dwarf with kindness and respect.

He made sure to greet my grandfather first, and his Khuzdûl must have reminded him of greater Halls, for I saw Thrór smile for the first time in days as Roäc bowed, slightly. It was my grandfather who remembered to ask him if he had been able to feed himself, and who made sure he would always have his share of meat and bread – and it warmed my heart.

And then Roäc turned towards Thráin, and left my arm for my father's. There he was, perched on his broad arm-guard where Ravens were engraved, my father's long, dark locks spread on his shoulders – Erebor's Raven-haired Prince indeed...

Thráin asked for Carc, and I saw his face relax once he knew his friend was safe. He stroked my friend's feathers then, and Roäc did not mind – Thráin was a father and as such had some claims...

" **Thank you** ", my father said eventually, in a low voice. " **Thank you for making my son so happy. Long have I yearned for his face to shine as it does today.** "

I looked at Thráin – he was facing me, his eyes grave and loving. He was smiling, but suddenly I understood that he had witnessed more than I had thought – that I had never been able to keep my grief from him, and that, though his mind was not whole, he had ever wanted to be able to help me...

And I resolved silently to hope, and to keep my grief from him should these hopes crumble, for it was not his fault, and I was not to add a single cloud to the darkness that was so often engulfing his mind.

How I rejoiced in seeing my friend greeting all those I loved... Náin was used to Ravens, and bowed low. So did Fundin, and Balin, who had known Roäc for years indeed. But the best was to see him with my siblings and my cousins. Dwalin was so in awe that he barely said a word, at first – but Dáin was reduced to silence as Frerin ran towards Roäc, his face beaming.

He offered him his arm, and my friend perched himself upon it, smiling at Frerin's joy, and my brother was prattling half in Raven-tongue, half in Khuzdûl, explaining to Roäc Dáin had doubted him, and informing Dáin he had been wrong, but Roäc only smiled.

And Dís... my lovely little Dís...

She searched for Dwalin's embrace, letting him wrap his arms around her shoulders, keeping her safe. She was watching Roäc silently, looking at Frerin and me every now and then, not moving forward.

And when Dwalin bent, asking her softly to greet Roäc, she stiffened against him, burying her face in his chest.

"What if I don't speak Raven-tongue? What will they all think of me?"

He hoisted her up on his hip then – he was so tall she was perched high indeed, and then he brushed one of her loose strains from her small face.

"It won't change anything, Dís. Never. You will always be worthy to them, and to everyone."

Roäc must have heard his words, for he turned towards them – and his dark gaze warmed as he took Dwalin in, and as he saw my sister's troubled, serious face.

"Be greeted, Thráindaughter. Words are bridges, and the wanderer does not mind the shape of the stones, as long as he can cross water to pursue his journey. You do not have to speak to me. But should you choose to do so, rest assured in knowing I will treasure every word, in whatever language you chose to address me."

She pondered his words, and then she bowed, her locks meeting Dwalin's chest who was still holding her.

"I am glad you came. Thorin was waiting for you."

She wavered for some seconds – and then she added:

"I think I can speak your language. But I won't use it now, because Dwalin is there – he does not speak it, you see, and I don't want him to be unable to understand what I say. It would be very rude, very unfeeling, and Dwalin does not deserve it."

She wrapped her arms tighter around my friend – and I could see Dwalin's cheeks get slightly coloured behind his whiskers. He looked at Dís in deep surprise, and Roäc bowed.

"You are a true Princess, Dís daughter of Thráin. The treasure of Durin's line indeed..."

He flew back to me, in the end – he would always fly back to me, after the talks ended, and when he would come back from his scouting flights... He knew how much I loved him, how much I needed him to remember who I was – not just a boy strolling through the wild, all my belongings on my back, my boots muddy and my rings turned towards my palm to keep them from the dust.

I was a Prince still, a Prince who had resolved to strive hard, for I remembered where I came from, and was determined never to forget it – one day there would be halls, and fires, and forges roaring again...

He made us keep clear of the Elvenking's Forest – his black eyes earnest, so wise that even my grandfather agreed almost at once.

"Do not enter these woods, for they are against you. The Elvenking has shown his face to you – and it is no longer a friendly one.

\- It never was", my grandfather growled, and then he urged everyone to keep clear of the trees, and stay close to their border.

We left the riverbanks then, having made sure our water supplies were full, for there would be no stream until we reached the Anduin. We were sure to have rain again – it would be a two full week's journey, and though the sun was shining, the clouds had not entirely left, for it was early spring still.

We kept clear of the trees – and as we left Roäc whispered to me:

" **I am glad he did not hurt you in Erebor, Thorin.**

 **\- Who?** ", I asked, taking a last look at the River Running and then turning my back on the water.

" **The Elvenking.**

 **\- I wish he had tried** ", I answered, my voice full of repressed fire and hatred, and Roäc's claws tightened their grip around my shoulder – he would perch himself there as I walked, for I needed my arms to keep free.

" **Did you not wonder why he came so swiftly, after the Dragon's attack? Why his men stood ready while yours struggled to keep their ground...?** "

I looked at him, and his beak gently touched one of my hair clasps as my gaze clouded.

" **No... I thought you had warned him. I did not think, actually, Roäc. There was no time.** "

I was walking with such rage that some earth rose against my boots, falling against the faded iron cladding its tips.

" **We think he had planned an attack upon Erebor. He wants these white gems back, Thorin. Even now, he still does – perhaps he even thinks you have them. That is why I do not want you to enter those trees. He has shown you mercy the day the Dragon came – I am not sure he will do that again...**

 **\- Mercy, Roäc?** "

My voice was so fierce that my friend had to squeeze my shoulder again – and I remembered then that he was not the Elvenking, that I had no right to speak to him in such tone...

" **Forgive me, Roäc. It is just – there was no mercy in what he did. He rejoiced to see us hurt, dying and barely able to breathe – he who has an everlasting life... He could have helped us... I did not ask him to enter Erebor and fight the Dragon – I did not ask it of you, I would not have asked it of him. But he could have helped us with the wounded... brought us some supplies... That would have been mercy, indeed...** "

Roäc placed his head against my cheek – he always did when I raged, and it always helped to calm me down. Even as I was struggling, back in Erebor, even while words around me seemed twisted, where I did not know anymore who was a friend and who was a foe... I could recognize his touch, that cold, soft stroke against my cheek...

He was not always there, though. There were long hours where he was away, hunting or scouting, and also those where I slept or had to eat myself – the first days he stayed longer with me, because we had missed each other, but afterwards we both gave the other back his freedom, and I would treasure those conversations with him.

We had reached half of the journey towards the Anduin – had kept silent while trees were in sight, and they were still, a broad line on our right, while the desolate Brown Lands stretched on our left.

There was worry on Roäc's brow as he scrutinized the desolate, burned hills that gave them their name, and he soon left my shoulder, reaching for the sky, telling me he would be back.

Night was closing in when he did, and we had just decided to rest, were ready to plant the tents in the shelter of two low hills, when Roäc came back.

I barely had time to extend my arm, this time, and Roäc spoke at once, using Khuzdûl so that everyone could understand.

"No fires tonight, Thorin. And double the guards."

I looked at him, puzzled, yet his next words made my whole body tense and a shiver of dread run down my spine.

"A pack of forty. Only a mile away – they might not catch your scent, but if they do... try to face them by daylight."

Wolves.


	4. Chapter 4

**The King of Carven Stone : Part V**

 **A Craft In Itself (Journey to Dunland)**

 **4.**

Many battles I have faced, against evil creatures – Goblins, Orcs, Wargs, Spiders... The Dragon, twice. And the Pale Orc, three times – there he lies, on the ice. That evil is silenced, unable to harm, at last – I made sure, I made sure this time, I watched him die, his limbs slackening and his breath dying in his foul mouth...

He is dead, and it does not matter that I am dying as well. All that matters is that I made sure this time, so that he will never rise through ice and fire again.

I faced Men, as well – Men who did not believe in anything anymore, who were cruel and blood-thirsty, but sometimes only desperate and starving... Some I have killed, and it was because I had to – I never relished in that, for Men are different... Men have faces like us, breathe and love like we do – and though they are tall, their bones break easily, their muscles are soft, they often seemed made of clay to me, and I never could rejoice in their deaths...

I hope he is not dead, the Bargeman I will never be able to meet again, to tell him how I wish we had had more time, that circumstances could have been different – I wish I could tell him about Cillian, and about those I loved among his kin, but I cannot. I can only pray that no arrow broke through his lean frame, that no sword harmed him, that he still stands tall on Dale's shattered walls...

But that day, so long ago, we did not face creatures twisted by evil, and we did not face Men... That day it was different – for the first time in my life, I faced raw instinct, where no feeling could prevail, neither hatred nor fear...

For these wolves were no Wargs. They had been drawn from their territories by starvation and savage hunting, and their number in itself was unusual. I had read about wolves, and I knew they were generally moving in smaller packs, that they would even rather hunt alone so that they could be faster and deadlier...

Forty wolves – it could only mean they had been forced to flee and regroup, that they would not recoil from attacking us, for we were made of flesh and blood, and they were starving... And when I recall that day – I think it stands out so clear in my mind because in a way, the wolves and us, we were the same, we were all fleeing, trying to survive, and ready to die trying...

Of course they found us. It did not matter that we moved at once, regrouping the carts in the middle of the warriors, the women and the elderly sheltered between them, and Dís secluded in my father's iron grip, while we boys had pulled on our chainmail and our arm-guards without a word.

We walked swiftly – and I remember the awareness in my grandfather's gaze, for Thrór knew wolves, and how to face them.

"I want every man and boy able to hold a sword to be ready. The warriors in the outer circle, and don't you dare to utter a sound – I want you to walk silently, and swiftly. If they approach, stay still – let them come, don't rush towards them, this is what they seek, to chase you, we won't let them make us run."

His eyes were shining – and I suddenly realized he relished in that perspective. Thrór never shrank from battle, and though he had not fought for many decades, he had faced the Orcs in our exile just as if he was still a young warrior. The wolves did not frighten him, and I even wondered if he did not look forward to an attack.

We moved, we walked fast and swiftly, and the night was dark when we heard the sound we had all dreaded – causing us to freeze.

A howl, shortly followed by another, its low moan stretching and echoing against the forlorn hills, making my flesh creep.

The carts were instantly dragged together, the women and those unable to fight regrouped in the space thus delimited, and the warriors formed the outer circle, while the rest of us stood between the carts and them.

"No", my father simply said, when he saw Frerin ready to take his place at my side.

Thráin did not care for Dís' small arms clinging around his chest – he simply kissed her tiny brow, and then he placed her in my brother's arms, his grey eye commanding.

"You guard your sister, _dashtith_...

\- But..."

My father did not even let him finish, he simply pushed him back among the carts, and then he moved them so that the protection ring was closed, before turning towards me.

He wavered for an instant – but I was ready and so were Dwalin and Dáin, we had all pulled our weapons, and the days were long gone where he would have had the right to forbid me to fight: I had already fought, we had even fought each other...

Náin and Fundin did not waver – they both clasped their sons' shoulders, quickly touched foreheads, and I think Fundin whispered something into Dwalin's ear, but I was looking at my father, waiting for him to do the same.

Thráin only bowed – a small nod of the head, not even touching me. And now I know why – I know that had he touched me, he would not have been able to let go, that he would have me there behind the carts with the women and my siblings, sheltered and safe.

And this could not be.

" _Maimhid_ , _dashat_ ", he only said, and then he left.

It was the first time I stood next to Dwalin in battle – and it was not even a real battle, at first, we just held our ground, the night around us a single black void, where no sound was uttered anymore and where the only shape we could discern was the even line of the warriors' backs.

There he stood, next to me – he was so tall, almost as tall as my father, and I remember hoping I would soon grow, that Mahal would please make me as tall, that I would soon grow out of the child I felt next to him, despite my battle gear...

Such were my thoughts – what a child I was indeed, so worried to be worthy, not realizing it did hardly matter, that Dwalin did not even care...

I grew as tall, in the end – it took me five years, for five summers he had more than me. By then of course, he had grown himself, and in the end I never fully reached his height – his forehead he always kept above mine, but I never cared, and neither did he.

Other howls scarred the night, and my fingers tightened around my sword, but nothing happened. My grandfather had been right – the wolves were reluctant to attack as long as we stood our ground, and it took them a while.

But in the end they did – attacked us in groups, and soon we could see frames fighting through the night, three warriors for one wolf, in a fierce and ruthless embrace.

The first circle broke between minutes – the warriors spreading through the lands, still fighting, but some had remained and they urged us to stay still and hold our ground.

A strange night it was – broken by sounds, yet without any battle-cries... And we could only watch, it was forbidden to move, we had to be ready should there be another attack.

It was still dark and cold, dawn was not yet reaching us. I could feel Dwalin breathe next to me, we stood so close, both ready, our bodies tense and wary...

And suddenly they came, breaking through the warriors who were still fighting – three tall, fierce, hungry wolves who came running towards us, each one hurling itself at one Dwarf.

I could hear screams behind me, and next to me, and then we both saw it approach. We reacted instantly, not even having to talk. As the wolf jumped, we both shifted, Dwalin on the right and me on the left, and we hit the wolf's flanks, causing it to run back with a whelping sound.

"It's gone...", Dwalin whispered, and I nodded.

"Wasn't too difficult...", he added, and I turned around to make sure no one was injured – it did not seem so, the three wolves had withdrawn and suddenly I felt uneasy.

"They might come back...", I whispered, and I was right.

This time there were more wolves – or so it seemed to me, perhaps they were only five, and just seemed many to me. They came, leapt at our ranks, tried to snatch one of us away – yet always failed, because we stood so close to each other, because no one ran, everybody holding his ground...

It happened ten times at least – and it was unnerving, the endless waiting, the sudden attack, and the fear, for the wolves were tall compared to us, and their fangs razor-sharp.

The night was withdrawing slowly, and we could finally see – see that the warriors were still fighting against twenty wolves, five of the beasts already dead, while no Dwarf seemed seriously injured: it was a fight of both strength and nerves, but Thrór's experience had led us safely until dawn, and the battle would probably soon be over...

And then he came.

A huge wolf, running fast, his grey fur almost white in his speed – he had golden eyes, savage and unyielding, that only spoke of raw force, unleashed, drawn by hunger... I know he had no feelings, could not have any feelings, that the only thing drawing him was instinct, and yet – it did not seem entirely natural, that run, that determined leap, for he hurled himself straight at me.

He jumped at me, because the odds stood very clear for that instinct-driven creature: I was the smallest, the tiniest, yet I stood in the front – and somehow I did not shift, this time, it just happened so fast, and the golden eyes were telling me so clearly that I didn't stand a chance, that I was just too small, not fierce enough, and afraid...

He leapt at me – and suddenly I felt pain, so much pain, his fangs had buried themselves in my right shoulder, he was dragging me back, running away from our lines, and I tried to pull free, tried and only felt more pain in my shoulder, making my vision darken for precious seconds while my sword fell from my hand.

I know Dwalin hurt him – I know he thrust his sword, that it hit his flank and caused a deep, gushing wound, for I have seen it afterwards.

But the wolf had already drawn back, his bite around me deepening, causing me to moan – I could not even scream, I just could feel these fangs, and the ground against which he was dragging me: my head, my back, my legs, even my left arm, they were scratching against earth and stone, and I tried to lift my arm, tried to hit him with my axe, but I did not reach him, I could not see, and it hurt...

I could hear the wolf's hurried breathing, feel it against my face, he just kept running, his paws inches from my body – I tried to hit him once more, found his ear somehow, heard him howl without releasing his bite...

And then – just as I was feeling my body getting limp and numb, because I could not stay conscious, the pain was too sharp, I could not even feel my arm anymore, I just hung there while he dragged me away...

Then I suddenly heard him howl, loudly, with such rage and pain that his jaws parted, his fangs releasing my shoulder.

I fell on the ground, hit it with a thump that seemed to echo through every bone – and I instinctively drew my knees against my chest, I still had enough wit and strength to do that, I had been well-trained...

I wore my chainmail, but it slips in battle and even our bodies have their weak points – where there are no bones, only muscles that remain flesh, and where nearly every wound is deadly... I had been trained to shield my abdomen, dragging my knees against my chest, and it saved my life.

As I lay there on the ground, my right arm useless and my vision darkening, I saw the wolf bend upon me – saw these golden eyes once more, and that grey, luxurious fur that was stained with blood, an arrow pointing out of his left flank...

And I... I did not... did not understand how this arrow could be there, because no one... no one used arrows, and I... I was far away from the other Dwarves, I was... so far away and the wolf, he was... breathing so close to me... he was...

Pain, reaching through the thick fabric of my trousers, his fangs had found my leg, and I moaned.

Pain... and no weapon, my axe... I had let go of my axe... I was going to... I was going to die... I was too small, not fierce enough, I did not deserve to survive, I had lost, I had failed...

A strange wheezing noise, and suddenly – suddenly the wolf's head reached my chest indeed, causing my breath to leave my lungs and my whole body to quiver, it hurt and I was so afraid...

But the wolf lay still. His fangs had released their grip around my leg, and as I looked at his head, searching for that golden, unforgiving gaze, I realized his eyes were closed.

An arrow lay deep in his head, and the great wolf was dead.

I pulled away, tried at least, I could not recover, my arm hurt too much, I just writhed my body and kicked myself free, I dragged myself away from the wolf's fangs, my body shaking violently and small, strangled moans leaving my lips – I did not understand, I couldn't move, I was so afraid, I could barely move and there were more wolves, I could not recover and yet I had to, they would leap at me, bite me, I had to fight them...

I struggled and kicked indeed, as my body met another, I even tried to scream but only managed to let out the same choked sound – and suddenly voices reached through my pain:

"Thorin, it's me. Thorin, don't struggle, it's over.

\- You are safe, he's dead – he's dead, I made sure of it."

I turned – and it was Dwalin, holding me upright, and it was Frerin, gazing at me, cupping my face between his palms, brushing my skin to calm me down, because I was shaking, and not able to breathe properly – not even able to ask how he could be there, he was not supposed to be there...

"It's all right, Thorin, it's all right, he is dead, he is dead. He is there, lying on the ground, he won't reach you, he won't harm you, just breathe, listen to me – listen to me, Thorin..."

Someone was moaning, someone was breathing like a frightened, injured child, and it took me a moment to realize it was me – I was just gazing at Frerin, my body still rigid with fear, my face between his hands, unable to understand what he was saying...

But gradually his words got through my fear – and my breathing calmed down, I was not making these terrible sounds anymore, I was just looking at my brother who had killed that wolf somehow, who had saved my life, and I could not understand.

"I shot him", Frerin said – he always read my eyes and Soul, and his voice was calm as he went on:

"There was no way I would stay there, shielded and hidden away while you all fought! I climbed on the carts as soon as I could, I made Dís promise not to move, and I was there the whole battle. I saw the attack, and I had my arrow ready, but somehow it was not needed, you were all pushing them back... And then I saw that wolf arrive."

A painful, shuddering breath left my lips, and Frerin brushed my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones.

"Shhhh, Thorin, it's all right. It's all right. I told you, I shot him. In the flank first, so that he could let go of you – I could not risk aiming for his head, your own face was too close, and we don't want you scarred now, do we...?"

He smiled at me – I could not believe he was so calm, that he had managed to keep his nerve so as to act...

"But once he let go of you – I shot him straight in the head. I tried to be quick, Thorin, I just had to place the next arrow, I tried to be as fast as I could...

\- _Maikhmin_..."

My lips were so cold and numb I barely managed to speak, I think I even stuttered, but I had to say it, I had to say it again and again just to make sure he heard it, and to make sure I was alive indeed.

 _Maikhmin. Maikhmin. Maikhmin_.

My _kudzaduz_ , my brave brother, my treasure, my little archer, for you it seemed a game, you were so proud, you did not waver, you killed that wolf because he had me, and yet you never liked giving death, except for saving a life...

"A craft in itself...", Frerin said softly, his eyes shining with love.

And I buried my face in his chest, Dwalin slowly letting go of me so that Frerin could embrace me. I breathed in his scent – it smelt faintly of earth somehow, fresh earth after an early spring rain...

"I... I can't move my arm..."

I had let out the words through my gritted teeth – I wanted to wrap my arms around him and I couldn't, and now that fear let go, slowly, I was struggling to keep upright. The pain was washing out everything in my mind – I could barely see, I just knew something was wrong with my right arm, I could not move my shoulder, it did not even really _feel_ like my shoulder, and this was terrible.

It meant I could not fight, not work, it meant I was a burden, a failure, a dead weight – I had to be able to move again, I just had to, it was nothing, it could not be...

"Don't move it, Thorin..."

My brother gently supported my arm, his hand getting under my elbow, and I let out a groan. My left hand moved, clutching my wrist – I stirred at last, letting go of Frerin, dragging my arm against my chest and doubling up in pain.

"Let go, lad."

Óin's gruff voice reached through the hurt – somehow he was there, though I did not remember him coming. I could feel his hand against mine, trying to undo the grip of my fingers.

"Let go, I'm holding your arm."

He was there, kneeling next to me, black-eyed, grim-faced as ever, and I let go, slowly, my breath uneven as I felt his other hand search for my shoulder, feeling for my bones under my chainmail. I bit my lip and closed my eyes, sweat drenching my forehead – but I let him.

"It's not broken. But your shoulder's out of place. Have to push it back."

I nodded, my eyes still shut. My jaw hurt from clenching my teeth and I could not speak.

"We have to remove your clothes. No matter how, it will hurt, lad.

\- It's all right..."

I did not recognize my voice, it sounded choked and tiny. I opened my eyes and my vision was swimming – Frerin was still close, only inches away from me, while Dwalin knelt behind me so that I could lean against him.

"I'd rather have you drink something first. To knock you out a bit.

\- No. We have to move on... just do it without.

\- Thorin, take it."

Frerin's voice was earnest, he felt for my hand and squeezed it gently.

"Please."

I looked at him – saw worry in his eyes, he looked nothing like a child, suddenly, and I did not know how to oppose that earnest plea, he had just saved my life, had not wavered, had not missed his target despite of the danger... I was the failure, I had no right to protest...

I nodded again, and a flask was raised to my lips – and I swallowed fire, or so it seemed. I coughed, averted my face, meeting Dwalin's strong arm, but Óin clicked his tongue.

"One more...", he said, and I obeyed.

Soon my vision began to swim for good, and I felt light-headed, leaning deeper against Dwalin. Óin's voice seemed far away when he spoke once more.

"Right, lads. Dwalin, you hold him. Frerin, you help me remove his clothes and chainmail. No matter what he does, you keep pulling, got it?"

My brother nodded, and suddenly I felt pain again. They were moving my shoulder, they were pulling my chainmail from me, and Mahal it hurt, causing me to moan despite my gritted teeth, beads of sweat reaching my eyes. I was shaking when they finally tossed my chainmail on the ground, along with my belt and jerkin, and Frerin whispered:

"Can't we just cut his tunic and shirt?"

But I shook my head. I only had three shirts, and as many tunics, I could not afford to lose them, I would have to endure.

"Just get them off. I am fine."

Yet I moaned again as they freed my arm from my clothes, and when Óin touched my shoulder again, I grasped his hand, holding it at bay. I stayed like this for several minutes, my jaws fiercely clenched, sweat clouding my vision, shaking against Dwalin who was holding me steadily.

"I am sorry. Go on. Just do it."

I did not look at my shoulder, I simply could not. I could feel it was out of place, causing my arm to hang limply at my side, sending off searing waves of pain engulfing my chest.

But it was nothing compared to what came next.

Óin made Frerin hold my valid arm, while Dwalin was asked to restrain me, maintaining me firmly against him. And Óin pulled, and turned, and pushed, and he did not care for the quivers that went through my whole body – he simply went on pushing.

And suddenly I heard an awful noise – a clunk of bone meeting joint again, and pain washed through my body, so intense that I gladly would have fainted, but I did not. I just sagged against Dwalin, felt something hot rise in my throat, and gave back some of the strong, burning drink I had just swallowed.

"Well, that went fine...", Óin said almost good-humouredly, patting my knee as I wiped my mouth, my face ashen and my body drenched in sweat.

"That went quite fine..."

I stared at him, watched him get up, telling me he would come back to dress my shoulder, his black eyes serious once more.

"Don't let him touch me again...", I whispered.

Dwalin laughed, I could feel his body shake against mine, and Frerin smiled too, brushing the back of my hand.

"He patched you up alright", Dwalin said.

It was paining me, though. The wolf's fangs had dug deep into my chainmail, and had left huge bruises that spread on my chest and back. My shoulder was swollen, and the rest of my body was grazed where I had been dragged against the ground.

There was blood on my trousers as well, where he had bitten me, but I did not feel anything, and I looked at the crimson patch spreading slowly, thinking again and again that I had failed.

Óin applied ointment upon my shoulder and then bandaged it tightly. He made me pull on my shirt and tunic and then he placed my arm into a sling, maintaining it against my chest with another shred of fabric he tied around my arm and back.

"Thank you", I whispered once it was done.

"Don't lay any strain upon that shoulder for a week", Óin simply said.

He bent upon my leg then, removed my boot and sock, pulled up my trousers, his large hand behind my knee. There was blood everywhere, trickling down my knee, reaching my foot, and Óin wiped it away silently, looking at the wound I owed to the wolf's fangs.

"Looks worse than it is...", he let out at last, bending my knee and tensing it, unmoved by the fresh gush of blood his movement caused.

"Can't stitch it up, lad. Would only cause infection. You'll be fine – we're used to wolf bites, I don't think it will swell. You have a family heirloom there to keep you from harm – King Thrór, and Thráin, their blood's immune, that's for sure..."

He grinned – he was in a good mood that day, Óin had been no serious injuries, no deaths. Several Dwarves had wounds similar to mine, but nothing vital, nothing that could prevent us from moving on. The fight had not lasted long after my fall – the great wolf was the leader, as soon as he was brought down, the rest of the pack had dispersed, fleeing from us, withdrawing.

Following instinct.

"Now let's clean it, laddie, and bandage it, and then you'll rest a bit. That drink was strong..."

I winced when he cleaned the wound, using the same liquid I had swallowed – and I did not wonder anymore at my spinning head, for it burned my skin like fire.

"There you go, lad."

He had bandaged my knee quickly, and he actually patted my foot once, smiling at its size, still smaller than his hand – and he was still smiling as I tried to draw it back with a fierce move.

"Wait, laddie..."

His chin pointed to my shoulder – and I had to let him put my sock back on my foot, but then I grabbed my boot and pulled it on myself, and covered my wound with my trousers, my eyes glowering.

" _Thank you_ , Óin.

\- Rest a bit", he repeated, still looking amused, and then he left.

And I leant against Dwalin again – my head felt light, but my heart was racing. I still could feel the wolf's fangs around my shoulder, I remember the terrible fear I had felt as I had hung between those mighty jaws, I still could see these golden eyes, so full of raw force. There had been no pity, only hunger and determination.

And then blood, and death.

My fingers tightened around Frerin's once more, and I clung to his hand – his able little hand that had saved my life. Alone in the wild, I would have died – Nature's laws were raw, and ruthless. But I had not been alone, not that day...

" _Maimhid_ , _kudzaduz_."

He just entwined my fingers with mine – and he did not let go. Not even when my grandfather came, and ruined the peace that had finally got through my pain and fear.

"What happened here?", Thrór asked, and I recovered, breaking free from Dwalin.

"He was injured, _uzbadê_ , Dwalin answered quietly. "His right shoulder was dislocated."

The cold gaze of my grandfather met mine – and I could read displeasure in these icy orbs, causing me to rise to my feet, staggering yet able to stand.

"Well, it looks back into place now", Thrór said, his broad hand actually clutching it, while I repressed a start.

"My grandson is tough, he does not sit idly while others strive, he fights, always, and he knows no pain. Get your weapons and your bag, Thorin. Come on, I want you at my side today..."

I nodded wordlessly, repressing a shiver. I was without chainmail, I just had my tunic, and I was feeling so cold: the wind was icy and I was still drenched in sweat. My head was spinning, my knees felt weak and I cursed Óin's drink silently as I bent down, gathering the sword Dwalin had brought back to me, searching for my axe.

"Grandfather, he is _hurt_...", Frerin said, and there was a challenge in his voice. "He can't carry his weapons, he has to spare his shoulder.

\- Of course...", my grandfather said softly, and there was such contempt in his voice that Frerin took a step back.

"You would have him curl up like a Dwarfling, nursing his little grazes... Sometimes I wonder if you realize who we are – have I really passed on _nothing_ to all of you?!"

Frerin swallowed hard, but he only grabbed my chainmail, holding it against him – his own, silent way to tell me there was no way I would carry this burden, not while he was here.

"Grandfather...", I whispered, having found my axe, holding both of my weapons with my uninjured arm.

"I will join you. Lead on. Let me just clean my blades."

He smiled at me, then – and it did not warm my heart, it was a hard, cold smile that only spoke of misplaced pride. He wanted me at his side as a proof that his line was still strong – that he led in battle and that I followed, that we both were unbreakable, defying death just like Durin had done. There was no room for hurt and weakness in his mind – and I knew I would have to strap my weapons on my back, and lift that bag with Mahal's help, because I had no choice.

I had already failed, had already been a disgrace today – I would not fail again, I could not bear the shame of it.

"Thorin...", Dwalin whispered once my grandfather had turned his back, but I cut his speech at once.

"Please. I will be fine. It doesn't really hurt anymore."

I was lying, and the three of us knew. But I did not let them voice their thoughts, I just asked Dwalin to help me, silently, and I remember how dark his eyes looked as he lifted my bag and watched me hoist it up on my back.

I looked at Frerin, giving him a sad little smile – it was lighter than it should, he must have removed some items, but my brother only looked at me, his grey eyes bright and full of grief.

Then Dwalin helped me strap my weapons on my back, taking care to fasten the leather-band around my left shoulder. And I left them, trying to walk evenly, to ignore the crushing weight of my bag upon my injured shoulder, and the throbbing pain in my knee.

My grandfather smiled at me when I met him, and his hand searched for my left arm, squeezing it almost with care. He entwined his arm with mine and dragged me along, his steps wide and brisk as always, and I followed.

"I am happy to walk with you, Thorin. I have missed you at my side...", Thrór said, casting a side-glance at me.

It took me a while to answer – my teeth were clenched and I was struggling to keep up with his pace, but I was determined to achieve it, he wanted me at his side, where I had sworn to be...

"I was not far away, grandfather...", I whispered, and Thrór smiled.

"I know... You have always been reliable, Thorin. You are strong. You are brave. You make up for everything... everything my son is not."

His voice had become colder, and my throat tightened. My father did not even know I was injured, everything had happened so fast – he had fought as bravely as ever, at Náin's side as so often, he had not failed, he was not the one who should bear shame...

"Grandfather... He is brave. He is strong. He is... he is my father."

I had spoken in a faint voice and my grandfather's hand brushed my arm, once, almost gently.

"See, that is why I want you at my side. Loyalty, Thorin... This is what a King needs most, and loyal you are, always were and always will be. You won't fail me, Thorin. You are not like your father, not like your brother, you know where your duties lie..."

I did not answer, this time. My gaze wandered around – I could only see dark, burnt, barren land, and the curves of that forlorn landscape seemed to waver before my eyes, it looked so desolate...

It was such a lie, such a lie – I wished I could scream out what a lie it was, they were both brave, they both knew their duties, I was the unreliable one, not even able to fight and save my own life...

"I need you to listen to what I have to tell. I want... There are things I need to pass on to you... I tried with your father, but he did not listen, somehow it was lost to him, I failed to..."

And there his voice trailed off.

I have never seen my grandfather cry. Not even when Erebor was lost – I have seen him rage, spit out his scorn like curses, but I never witnessed any tear. I guess his eyes dried once and for all when he was very young – when he saw his father and brother slain by Drakes, and was forced to lead on, forgetting he had the right to shed tears as well.

Thrór hated tears, just like every form of weakness – just as he hated himself for not being able to finish that sentence.

His grip tightened around my arm, he drew a deep breath, and then he asked me:

"Are you listening, Thorin?

\- Yes, grandfather.

\- Will you remember it?

\- Yes, grandfather.

\- Promise you will, Thorin.

\- I promise."

My breath was short – he was working so fast, with such rage and urge, dragging me along like a helpless bundle... and suddenly he slowed down, gazing down at me once more. His broad hand found my face and he cupped my cheek, brushing one of my soaked braids aside with a move that was almost tender.

"You remind me of him, you know... Your father used to walk at my side just like this. I told him to come and he came. I told him to go and he went. He was always easy to deal with, often I even wondered what was going on in his mind, he was always so calm... Sometimes he would get angry, though – but he knew it annoyed me, he kept it low, he was a sweet lad, Thorin... And yet I wish he had been born with more strength, more strong-will. I wish he had been more like you..."

The sorrow in his voice was deep, but it was nothing compared to the pain I felt, for his words cut through me like knives.

"Please, grandfather, do not say such things... He is your son. He has served you well and loyally. He is worthy of your love...

\- Oh yes, I suppose so, but Thorin... One day I won't be there anymore. One day he will have to be King. And I do not think he can be – and it... it grieves me beyond measure."

He spoke so calmly... I think that is when I realized how terrible his grief and disappointment actually was.

"So I have to plan, and act. I have to explain it to you, what it means to be King. I have to help you realize how you have to behave, so that you know how to rule and lead... So that you can do it when and where your father cannot.

\- Grandfather..."

There was a desperate plea in my voice, and Thrór's hand left my cheek as his gaze hardened. And I swallowed my words, and just bowed my head.

"I am listening...", I whispered tonelessly.

And when he began to walk again, I followed – when he began to speak, I stayed silent, not cutting his speech a single time, letting every word meet me fully, for I owed it to him.

Yet how it hurt.

"Golden Stair, Thorin... _Zeleg'ubraz_... I haven't told you about that place yet, have I? Stairs covered with golden engravings, leading into the Mountains – you could see them shine in the morning sun, ablaze in the snow, they were so bright, Thorin, so bright... I used to play there with my brothers, we would chase each other along the stairs, running down the steps – we were foolish, I know, but we enjoyed to see them shine... Erebor was nothing compared to that glow, I wish you could have seen them, Thorin... The Grey Mountains..."

He had a dreamy look in his eyes, his hand had slackened around my arm, slid along my wrist so that his fingers entwined themselves with mine – and I held them. I held them, my throat tight, watching his gaze cloud and his face darken again.

"But we were fools. I have learnt my lesson there, Thorin. You cannot display gold the way we did, for everyone to see. This world is greedy, this world is mean – some will tell you it is not true, that there is kindness and love and mercy somewhere, don't believe them. Don't let their words fool you, grandson, there is no safe place, no one you can trust but yourself – hide your treasures, Thorin. Don't share them, don't let anyone see them, otherwise they will be taken."

His face was grim, he was crushing my knuckles, and I could only gaze up at him, my body meeting his hard, mighty, imposing frame, his bones even harder than his chainmail...

He looked down at me, and I must have looked as small and tiny as my nephews always seemed to me as children, for he released his grip and stopped, for a while. He crouched – his move was supple, he still was strong and able, despite his age – and then he faced me, his gaze searching my face, his broad palm brushing my cheek.

"Am I scaring you with my words, grandson? Your skin is cold and you are pale... I have to say such things to you, I have no choice, you have to understand, I cannot let you cling to pointless dreams, I have seen what dreaming led to, just look at your father..."

I shook my head – I did not really know what I was doing anymore. My injured arm rested against my chest and I could feel my own hurried breathing, but I still faced him. And when Thrór dragged me against him, when my cheek met the pearls adorning his magnificent beard, I let him – I leant against him, for a while, while my grandfather's chin rested against my head.

"The Drakes came because we displayed our gold like fools, and there was blood and fire everywhere..."

My grandfather's voice was calm, his words meeting my braids – and I shivered, thinking of my own Fire, of my own, dear Mountain where there had been no golden stairs, where beauty lay inside, dark and secret, where wealth could be seen yet where treasures kept hidden...

"They all died. My father, and my brother. Everyone but Grór, and me, and some warriors. I was forty-seven years old – I was barely of age. And Grór, he was... I think he was barely older than you. That winter, Thorin, we fed ourselves with bats. We chased them, in every cave, and we ate their wings. And we fought wolves, as well – the dogs we have faced today, they were mere puppies compared to those we faced..."

He brushed my hair, then – I think that somehow he tried to reassure me, for my body was tense, I was so full of dread, imagining his despair, his hunger, his fear...

"Don't be afraid, son, they all died. We made ourselves coats out of their furs, and they kept us warm... Borin, my uncle – he had travelled, he knew how to skin them so that we could use both flesh and fur to keep alive... And when spring came I knew. I knew I would have to search for another Mountain, a place where I could try to make us mighty again, and feared... I wanted a strong place, Thorin – a place where no one could get in uninvited, and Erebor... Erebor lay there, abandoned, forgotten... I did not really choose it, you know. I had no choice in that, Thorin, it was the only Mountain left save Khazad-Dûm."

His voice was so hard – and it was then I realized it, when it suddenly became so clear to me why I was feeling so estranged from him, and sometimes even from my father: they did not love Erebor the way I did. Thrór had returned to it guided by reason, not by love... and he had grown to be proud of the Mountain again, but love it – no, I could hear it in his voice, his heart still lay on those golden, shiny stairs, somewhere in the Grey Mountains, buried under ashes and smoke...

And my father – my father drew his first breath in dreary times. There still was so much to do, so many mouths to feed, and battles to lead – and he was the only child, because just like Dís, his birth had also caused his mother's death. He was unhappy in that Mountain, always had been – and I had only realized it in the Iron Hills, when I had seen him with Náin and Grór...

"I knew it was a hard path, and many doubted me. Borin – he said I should heed for the Iron Hills first, and Grór liked the idea, ever was one for forges and furnaces, that one... It was safer there, Thorin... So I made my brother go, but I did not want that road of dust, and iron, I wanted something better, something mightier, and so I headed for the Mountain, and some followed me..."

He smiled then – and I knew he was thinking of Nár, the friend that had never left his side, that I could see walking close to us, not listening to our discussion, he ever was discreet, but never far away...

Thrór brushed my hair, and then he pulled away from me, resuming his walk, keeping his hand upon my forearm.

"A hard road it was, Thorin, and even when we reached the Mountain... As long as there was food, my nights were safe – but remember my words, grandson... People will stab you without a second thought, if they are starving and hold you responsible for it... The ones you led, who would not have survived without you, they are always the first to bring you down... Several times, I almost got killed – Dwarves thinking I was unfit to rule, that I was leading them to death... They got death, Thorin, I killed them all, ruthlessly, I did not show any mercy to them, I drew their blood and broke their bones, and I still do not regret it..."

His face was grim, his eyes were icy – and I could see it was true, I could see how fiercely he had fought for his own life, for his power, how he had been forced to put kindness aside forever...

"You don't have to show any doubt, if you want to rule. Mark my words, Thorin – don't let them see you waver, don't let them see you hurt. Stay strong, no matter how deep your wounds reach – I know it is hard, I know you yearn for some rest and that you are in pain, I'm not blind... But you are brave, and I can't let you, they will think you weak, they will seek to break you, and I don't want you to fight for your life, grandson, I don't want you to live through that fear..."

His voice was firm, he kept walking, not even looking at me – and yet I think these were the most loving words I ever got from him.

"I'll tell you how I did it, when I was injured and still had to lead. I spent a whole winter on battlefields with three deep, gushing wounds on my back. They opened every day, and every night Nár had to dress them again, change the bandages and try to patch me up... I breathed in, and breathed out. And every time I did it, I thought that if I had done it once, I could do it twice. Just breathing, in and out – hah! I wish they knew, Thorin, sometimes I wish they all knew, I hated them all so much, with their whimpering and whining, and I pushed them hard, I did not care for the blood on my back, I just pushed them, and we won that war, we fought these Orcs back and finally earned Men's respect..."

And though I had promised him to listen, though I had given him my word I would not forget – I cannot recall more today... I know that every single word he said reached me, that on this terrible, forlorn day, there was a bond between us that never was as strong again, and that I always thought about his words, about this terrible life of hardship and war, where mercy and love had no place anymore...

I know he spoke for hours more, that he disclosed memories and feelings he had long forgotten, that I learnt more about him that day than I had in the twenty-four years where I had known him.

And I remember how he urged me to stay strong, to stay grim and fierce, to show no mercy, no kindness, no doubt – to use fear to be revered and to rule, to hide every deep feeling away. To be careful with my trust, and even more with my love – for these were weaknesses a King could not use...

And I breathed in, and breathed out – I stayed at his side, hurrying along, my arm prisoner of his mighty grasp, and my shoulder hurting so much that my face was grey. I breathed in, and breathed out, and every now and then my grandfather would stroke my cheek, brushing my sweat away – I was learning my lesson well, I was making him proud, he loved me in his own, hard way, and I breathed in, and breathed out.

I could not even feel my body anymore when we finally stopped, when I finally let down my bag, my weapons, and watched my grandfather walk away, leaving my side at last.

Fires were being lit – we had covered several miles and the lands were safe, Roäc had assured us of it, taking shelter upon one of the heavy rocks that were barring the landscapes.

They offered protection against the wind, and the tents were not needed that night. My back met hard stone, I let my bag and weapons slide on the ground, and for a while I just stood there, feeling nothing, watching the flames, not even able to think.

And then I let myself down as well, sliding slowly against the rock. My left hand felt for my shoulder, acknowledging the pain at last, and I raised my knees, resting my face upon them, closing my eyes.

"Thorin..."

A whisper, and a warm arm around my waist – I was so cold, so tired, I could not even look at Frerin, I just stayed as I was.

"Is there anything –

\- No. I am fine. I just want to... I just want to sleep."

I knew it was unfair. He deserved more than this – but I could not tell him the truth, tell him I ached, inwardly and outwardly, that I ached so much that I actually wanted to scream out loud, hit the rocks with my fists, and weep.

Instead I just stretched myself on the ground, turning my back on him, letting my cheek meet the cold earth, not even bothering to undress, curled up against the rock, my eyes shut.

And I drifted off almost at once – I only remember feeling something soft and warm against my skin, someone was probably spreading out my blanket, but I could not open my eyes, I just wanted to be gone, to lose myself in sleep, the only place where I could still escape, where I could still afford to whisper that I would never be able, never be strong enough...

That I had failed, that it was all a lie, that these golden eyes had been right in telling me I was too small, not fierce enough, that I did not deserve to survive...

That I had not even been able to speak up to Thrór, tell him he was wrong, that my father had every right to be King, that the true hero that day was my brother...

That the only weak blood here was mine, that I hated myself so much for it, hated and despised myself.

For the grief I felt, for my grandfather's life and for my father's. For the fear I could still feel somewhere in my body. For the weakness that was spreading in my limbs, making me unable to move. For the tears that were choking my breath but that I would not shed. For the pain that was burning in my accursed shoulder, because I had failed.

I had failed, I had failed, I had failed, I was weak, a burden, a dead-weight, a disgrace, and I kept whispering it deep in my heart, my eyes shut and my body huddled against the rock, until darkness mingled with sleep, and pain with oblivion.

* * *

 **Neo-Khuzdûl translations :  
**

 _\- Dashtith_ : little son, Thráin's nickname for Frerin.

\- _Maimhid, dashat_ : be blessed, son.

\- _Maikhmin_ : thank you.

\- _Kudzaduz_ : little golden coin, Thorin's nickname for Frerin.

\- _Uzbadê_ : my King.

\- _Zeleg'ubraz_ : Golden Stair, Dwarven city in the Grey Mountains where Thrór grew up.


	5. Chapter 5

**The King of Carven Stone : Part V**

 **A Craft In Itself (Journey to Dunland)**

 **5.**

When I woke up it was night still, and for several moments I was unable to remember where I was. I could only remember what had happened: the wolf's fangs in my shoulder, his bite on my knee, but somehow it mingled with my grandfather's words.

 _A cave in the Grey Mountains, bats, wolf flesh and wolf furs, to survive... Kill so as not to be devoured, for the weakest were doomed..._

I recovered slowly, resting my hand against the rock, my blanket sliding from my body. I felt crushed, like rubble smashed to pieces between sharper rocks, every movement hurt and my muscles were stiff and sore.

My hand felt for my shoulder, pain throbbing against my palm – the sling was still in place, and my fingers felt numb and cold, resting against my chest. I felt for my knee – bending the leg was painful and my trousers felt sticky, but I could move it and for a while I stayed like this, clutching my knee, staring at the dark night looming around, where not a single star could be seen. It seemed that the world stopped existing past the dying embers of our fires, and it felt as dark as my own mind and heart.

 _Don't let anybody see you are hurt. They will seek to break you, all of them. You promised, grandson._

His words of steel helped me so often in dark days, helped me when no kindness could reach me, when grief and hurt were so strong that I could only breathe in, and breathe out...

I thought of him every day – he was always there, somehow, his broad hand clutching my shoulder, his hard features shaped out in my mind, every time I was on the verge of being crushed, of becoming nothing more than rubble to be trod upon...

I have feared him, and what became of him. I have felt rage and despair because of him, I have opposed him again, and again – I have even sworn never to become like him, I could see his faults, his weaknesses, his madness... And in the end I failed, because we were the same – we shared blood, and thoughts, but above all, we shared fates and there is no escaping this, is it...?

He is the only one I am not afraid to meet, in the Halls where I hope to be carried soon. He is the only one who will not judge me – he might have been hard and harsh alive, but I know he will understand, when I will tell him about each heartbreaking decision I made... He will understand, when I will tell him I tried, tried so desperately to make it better, to build something, and to reclaim what was ours so that our people would never have to deal with cold and poverty again...

But above all, he will understand my failures – the way my mind broke, and even this, that wound in my chest killing me slowly, because I have gone there alone, by myself, not waiting for any support, determined to avenge them all...

I know exactly what I will say, as soon as I will meet his cold, blue gaze I missed so much, every day, without daring to breathe a word about it, not even daring to acknowledge it...

I am sorry, grandfather.

I should have loved you more, I should have told you, clung to you like Frerin did with _'adad_ , so that you would have known, at least... Known that you could have let your guard down, that it would not have changed anything, that I would have followed you nonetheless, and even more gladly... I know how hard you tried, I know now that you could not help it, that it was not your fault, that it was so hard to bear, that it was only a shield...

Don't look at me, just hold me, please – I don't want to see the others, I don't want them to tell me everything is fine, nothing is fine, and no one can understand, no one but you...

I yearn for your arms, for your crushing embrace, for your fierce glance – it is the only thing that still can mean home and kin to me now...

I am so sorry to have disavowed you – _I am not my grandfather_ , I have said endless times, as if it was a curse... Oh Mahal, are they going to say it as well, Dáin, Dís, and Dáin's son he was silly enough to name after me – are they going to say _I am not Thorin Oakenshield_ , in the same contemptuous tone I used, thinking myself above you...?

It was only fear, grandfather. It was never contempt – how could it, you were strong, you had achieved so much and I never saw you break down the way I did...

I want you to know it was you, after Azanulbizar.

You who helped me to walk – Dwalin and Dís, and Balin, even Óin, they patched me up, helped me stand again, but they persisted in telling me it was not my fault, that the blame was not to be placed upon my shoulders... They never understood what it felt like – they never understood it was their love and care that almost made me crumble, these dark hours where I remembered blood, and all these ashes in the crimson sky, making me choke...

But you – you would have yelled at me. Barked at me to stand up and do whatever I had to do, without delay. Death and losses were no excuses, we knew about them, we had faced them before, and tears were useless when there was work to do.

You who had watched your father and brother slain, who had picked up your smaller brother and taken up the mantle of leadership without a second thought...

It was you, you who helped me walk – not to feel, not to love, but to keep functioning, because I had to. And I thank you for it – there might have been another way, but it was the only one that worked for me. You will understand. Perhaps you will even feel pride, but I only want you to hold me, and shield me, because I know you will not judge.

Yet that night... That night I was still a small boy, a child, terrified by the wilderness and its savage laws – and they were cruel, these words about strength, loneliness, hardness and leadership...

And should my elder self have been there, next to the small Dwarfling huddled against that rock, desperately trying to pull himself together, I would have cradled him, pulled his head against my shoulder and whispered to him not to take every word as seriously – not every deeds were the same, and it was one thing not to bare feelings so as to keep shielded, and another to shut yourself away from everyone because a King had to...

That day, I had only lack of experience to be blamed for... I was so soft still, so innocent – oh yes, I would have cradled that boy, be it only for everything that would come next... I am not feeling sorry for myself, I am not avoiding the blame or trying to find excuses for my behaviour – I know what I have become, and their words of hatred and contempt I truly deserve.

But not the boy I was, and that no one will remember. Not that small boy, always trying to achieve more, to be stronger, to make everyone proud – full of doubts and hurt I could not deal with alone...

I was not alone, though.

As I recovered, wiping my hand against the rock and stretching my injured leg, I realized I was not the only one awake.

Dwalin was sitting two steps away from me, draped in his fur-coat, one knee raised and his hands resting against it – I have seen him keep watch like this so often, backed up against a rock, a tree or his saddle, his axes ready on the ground beneath him, yet always looking so relaxed, as if he was enjoying a quiet smoke...

That night he was only a boy as well – his hair was still long and thick, tied back by a heavy hair clasp, and there was no beard nor tattoo on his face, it was still bare, almost bare, just like his hands. No blue patterns speaking of battle deeds, no fierce knuckledusters, no scars, just the bare hands of a boy resting against his knee...

His eyes never changed, though. These brown eyes he shared with his brother, but had expressions of their own, just like Balin's – I loved them both, I loved them both so dearly, Fundin's sons, I needed them both so dearly as well...

He was looking at me but did not say a word, did not make a gesture, and his silence hit me just as if he had slapped me – it spoke of anger, of contempt, of disappointment, and I could not blame him but it hurt, nonetheless. It hurt so much that I could not bring myself to speak for a while, I had to swallow, ball my fist and then – then I looked up at him.

"Why don't you sleep?", I asked, and my voice was tiny, desperately trying to sound firm and collected.

"Same as you...", Dwalin answered, in that calm, even tone that always spoke of anger.

I looked up at him, my eyes searched his body, panic flaming up in my heart at the thought that he might be hurt – I had not even looked, had assumed he was fine, but what if he was not? I had not been with him the whole day...

"Are you hurt?", I asked, crawling closer to him.

He shrugged his shoulders and it prevented me from touching him. I just faced him, my heart beating loudly in my chest and my throat tight.

"Are you hurt?", I asked again, my voice quivering.

"'Course not."

His voice was fierce, despite of his even tone, and I had to swallow again. My nose was beginning to run, and I wiped it with the back of my hand. Once. And a second time, because he did not add anything.

"It was a mistake."

My voice was shaky but I was determined not to lower my gaze.

"What was a mistake?", Dwalin asked, and I wiped my nose again.

"What we did", I answered, and he arched his eyebrows, his face still hard.

"It is all right. It does not matter. Nobody knows. They think we are just cousins and friends...

\- Are we?", he asked, and I could feel his anger rise, still I answered:

"Yes. You are my friend. You said... you said you were."

I took a deep breath, clenching my fist even harder.

"But it does not mean... It does not mean you have to be forever. It is all right. You can still...

\- I can still what?", Dwalin growled, and I had to repress a sob, this time, but still I did not look away.

"You can still go back. Just like Dáin. It is better this way. It is just better this way... There is no point in you staying with me, it is just... It is just wasting your life away."

Dwalin balled his fists, and for a second I thought he would hit me, but he only glared at me.

"Do you know what you are asking? Do you realize what you are doing, when you are saying these words? Do you actually _know_ what it means, when you say that it's fine, that it's alright? _That it doesn't matter?!_ "

He reached out for my hale arm, grasped it fiercely, and then he shook me.

"Damn it, Thorin, it might not have mattered for you, but it did for me! I don't... I don't twist words like you do! I don't say yes when I mean no, fine when I mean terrible, go when I mean stay! I'm not pretending to be someone I'm not!

\- I know..."

I let him shake me, I could not even wipe my nose, I just rubbed it against my sling.

"I know... I'm the one who pretended... I'm the one who lied...

\- About what?"

He had stopped shaking me, he was gazing at me, his eyes bright – he was so strong, so tall, so full of heat and anger.

"About..."

I dragged my arm free and wiped my face.

"About... me... I... I... I don't... I am not... I am not what I... I don't manage... I am just not... They want... He said... I...

\- Thorin..."

He had his hand on my forearm again, and I looked up at him, blinded by tears I still managed not to shed – that I would not shed, come what may.

"I don't understand a word of what you are saying, you idiot."

And his voice was soft, yet void of anger at last, as he added:

"And it is better this way. It does not matter. It is all fine."

He was grinning, the rascal, had used a high-pitched words to mimic me, and his fingers gently pinched my forearm, but I could not pick up his jest, I could only back up against the rock, feeling so small.

"I left your side. I left your side. I just had to hold my ground, but I didn't, I didn't hold my ground, I...

\- Thorin, did you look at that wolf? Truly looked at him? Do you realize just how big he was?"

I stiffened, by body getting rigid again despite my will. Of course I had looked at him. I had only been able to look at him...

"There was nothing you could do... Even if you had shifted, he would have come back, he would not have withdrawn, not that one..."

He was still clasping my forearm – he probably felt my shivers, for I was shaking again, my muscles hurting from trying to repress it.

"I was the one leaving your side. I did not manage to free you. I watched you being dragged away and all I could do was running after you... I was so scared, Thorin..."

His voice had grown even softer, and I looked up at him, still huddled against the rock. I met his earnest gaze, these features I knew by heart, they were so dear to me, and I knew he was not lying.

"I could not keep you safe... Is that why you want me away?

\- I don't want you away."

The words had broken out like a cry of pain and it startled Dwalin, I felt it as I leant forward, desperately reaching out for him, not caring that my injured arm was pressed against his chest, that it hurt so much I could barely speak.

"I don't want you away. I don't want you away. I never want you away."

My fingers found the back of his tunic, balled themselves around the thick woollen fabric – I clenched my fist around it this time, so hard my knuckles turned white.

What my grandfather's words had not been able to cause, Dwalin's achieved in a few seconds – there I was, clinging to him, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder, because he was my friend, had promised to be, and that I could not bear to lose this treasure, one of the few things I still had and could not part with.

"Good", Dwalin said then, crossing his arms on my back and holding me close. "Because I didn't mean to go anyway. I have given you my word, remember?"

I nodded, my face still hidden in his shoulder, my fingers shifting slightly to tighten their grasp around his tunic.

"I won't let you carry that bag, mind. That thought you can thrust back where it belongs, along with other bright ideas – such as walking a whole day sweating in a light tunic, Mahal, what are fur-coats for, I wonder?

\- Hey, you are not my mum..."

I had mumbled the words straight into his shoulder, not bothering to lift my face, and it made him pinch my back.

"Nope. But I can be stubborn too... Speaking of mums, if you would please let go for a while..."

I shook my head, smiling at last, turning my face just enough to meet his gaze, and he pinched my back again, rolling his eyes.

"Mahal give me patience, strength and endeavour to bear that little plague, sticking to me like moss upon a rock...

\- Did you just call me _moss_...?", I breathed out, hitting him, making him bend towards me – but then I winced, and let go indeed, for I had forgotten my arm, and the searing pain in my shoulder.

He backed me up against the rock, all teasing forgotten, and reached for his bag. I watched him empty a pinch of dried powder into his bowl, mixing it up with some water then handing it to me.

"What is it?", I asked, taking the bowl.

"Willow-bark. Have it from my mum – she must have guessed what we would be up to."

He grinned and I smiled back. The pain was sharp, and I was not against something to alleviate it, as long as it was not Óin's accursed fire-drink...

"Eat something with it. It's bitter."

He handed me some bread and salted cheese – it was only then I realized how hungry I felt. I had not eaten nor drunk the whole day, and I had been too exhausted to notice, but I was starving and ate gladly, nestled against Dwalin who had sat himself at my side.

"I have to train harder", I voiced in the end, once I had filled my stomach properly, looking at Frerin's and Dáin's stretched silhouettes.

They slept like rocks, both of them. My cousin, tired by the hour-long fight where he had not disgraced himself, holding his ground and pushing back wolves until they withdrew. And Frerin...

He had fallen asleep shortly after me, the day's terrible strain taking its toll – he had fought like the true warrior he was too, had carried his own bag and my heavy chainmail for hours. In the end he had just nestled against the rock close to me, making sure to cover me with my blanket – and now he was sleeping, his breath soft and even. Hopefully dreaming himself away from blood and violence.

Dwalin grunted and pulled me against him, his arm around my waist.

"I'm useless without my right arm", I added, frowning in the darkness. "I could not reach that wolf properly with the left. When we will get to Dunland, I'm going to make sure to become deadly with both arms, just like you.

\- Going to train against Dís?", he teased me. "She's pretty deadly with her sticks, I promise you..."

I smiled, shaking my head.

"No. She'd beat me up. I had you in mind.

\- Oh, I'll beat you up all the same...

\- Can't wait..."

My voice was trailing off – I was feeling tired, suddenly, the pain in my joints and shoulder lessening slowly and my eyelids getting heavy. I yawned, and Dwalin put his palm against my mouth.

"Hey, that's awfully rude."

He was laughing silently, and he laughed even more when I pretended to bite him.

"Be nice, shift a bit...", I mumbled, pushing him in the chest so that he could lie down at last.

I settled my head on his shoulder, rested my injured arm against his chest, dragging my blanket upon our bodies. Dwalin's hand clasped my forearm gently, keeping it from sliding and hurting me, and I closed my eyes.

"Mahal, I'm the nicest Dwarf breathing under the skies...", he teased me, and I huffed into his neck, earning a soft nudge.

"I'm the nice one. Keeping you warm and all.."

I was drifting off actually, and my words were only half-articulated. I remember the warmth of his strong body against mine, the silent laughter shaking his chest. But I also recall soft words, seriously spoken once he was sure I could not answer, a heartbeat away from sleep, already drifting away.

"Don't let the wrong fires bend you, Thorin."

He kept his promise.

I did not carry my bag, not that day nor any other day, until Óin confirmed officially my shoulder had healed – oh, he threw a proper tantrum, Óin, that morning, once he had got me to remove my clothes so as to dress my arm again.

"What word in _no strain at all_ is too obscure to enter your wind-beaten head?! See how swollen it is? See how it hurts, when I bend it like _this_ , and like _that_?"

And I winced indeed, biting my lip hard, facing his fury as bravely as I could, trying to soothe him, nodding at every proper moment.

"Oí, I am going to say that in front of everyone and everybody – if I say something has to be done, it's because it has a _purpose_ , because there is a _good reason_ , and if you want your son and grandson to be maimed and _never_ to move his arm again, you just go on like this but don't ask me to watch and stand by! There's plenty of work among you thickheads, I can tell you, no need for me to stay!

\- Now Óin, old chap...", Náin threw in, amusement twitching his lips while my father and grandfather just stood there, Thrór too surprised to speak, and my father too worried.

"Don't you old-chap me! I don't mingle with you furnaces, you don't mingle with the lad's sinews and bones, right? Now you all get away, get your things done, whatever that might be, I have work to do!"

I still have to smile when I remember him raging and fuming – grim-faced Óin, black-eyed and black-bearded, still perfectly able to hear every whisper, fiercer than the fiercest warrior...

"And don't you dare saying I overdo it!", he yelled, as they shuffled away, facing me grimly, huffing something like "overdoing it, _me_..." in his beard, applying ointment on my shoulder with rough moves.

"Don't hurt him, please, Óin..."

Dís was the only one who did not mind his outburst, she was standing behind him, peeping across his back, and at her words his anger seemed to deflate instantly, thank Mahal.

"I won't, lass. I'm just making sure he mends, right?

\- Can I help you? I can put it on his shoulder, Óin, you said I could...

\- Did I now, lass?"

He was smiling, actually, tiny wrinkles showing around his eyes – and it made him look so young, not fearsome at all, almost like another Dwarf... She nodded, and I was grateful for the change, her tiny hands brushing my shoulder gently, trying to spare me unnecessary pain, rubbing the ointment in my skin with soft circles that sent down shivers into my spine.

"Better off for it like that, eh lad?"

Dís' eyes shone with pride and she smiled as I nodded, while Óin bent down to take care of my knee.

.

" _Moonlight and moonshine, moon-shadows peeping_

 _Moonlight and moonshine, brave little Dwarfling_

 _Moonlight and moonshine, my sweet, dearest son_

 _Moonlight and moonshine, pain will be gone._ "

.

She had sung the words as earnestly as a prayer, just like a spell – the same words my mother always made sure to whisper in my ear whenever I had come to her injured and crying... I had made sure she would hear it too, every time it was needed, twisting the words slightly so that it could fit her, and she had remembered...

I stared at her, smiling at me, her blue eyes so bright, so sure her words held magic, and they did, they did...

And then I moved my arm, gingerly, very slowly, yet making sure I could have her against me, closing my eyes, our cheeks touching without a word until Óin finished.

He did not speak either – he was all silent and soft, no doubt her words had reached him too, no doubt he was seeing her, the Dwarrowdam who had always been so caring, smiling and making sure there would always be love and light even in darkest halls...

He bandaged my shoulder with care, he even helped me with my clothes, and when he tied the sling around my chest and back, he actually brushed my cheek, once, with the back of his hand.

"Don't worry, lad. You'll move that arm again soon, I just had to frighten them a bit so that they let you be, for a while."

I looked up at him, puzzled, and he brushed my cheek again, roughly.

"I'm leaving him in your hands, Dís. Make sure he doesn't carry anything. No bag, only weapons _if_ they are strapped on the left shoulder. If he does otherwise, you report, right, lass?

\- Righty-right!", she let out, her silvery voice ringing clear against the rocks, making him laugh silently, as he gathered his bag, flasks and bandages, leaving us alone.

"Can I do your hair, Thorin?", Dís asked eagerly, but I refused, horror-struck at the thought of being caught with my hair being braided by my _little sister_.

"No. Leave it like that, the braids are still holding.

\- But it looks messy.

\- Then it will keep messy.

\- You are so stubborn!

\- And I will keep stubborn."

I was smiling, actually, because she was pouting, but she didn't insist, waiting for Dwalin to fasten my fur coat for me and strap my weapons on my shoulder. She was watching him closely, her eyes narrowed, and he smiled at her.

"Everything as it should, _sarnûna_? Anything bothering you?

\- Nope", she grinned, and I sighed.

"It is _no_ , Dís, as long as I am listening."

She mouthed the word ' _grumpy_ ' and I arched my eyebrows, until she looked down, simply holding out her hand for me. I clasped it, tenderly, dragging her against me.

"Grumpy yourself, _mamarlûna_."

And gone we were, leaving these desolate rocks behind us, Roäc leading on in the sky while we followed, his black eyes warming up as he saw us advance, Dwalin and Frerin sharing my belongings on their backs while Dís held my hand, and Dáin falling into a song when he was told the Anduin was only seven days ahead.

Fundin and Náin shaking their head at us – summoning a smile even on my father's lips, the worried furrow between his eyebrows vanishing as Náin reminded him of their own performances.

And Óin chuckling behind us, sharing his good mood with Balin whose eyes sparkled and laughed – they were ever close, both of them, they both had this superiority of knowledge, of seeing clearly through minds... Never using it to hurt or to harm, but enjoying these little moments where they had managed to wrap everyone around their finger – small victories that had nothing to do with battle.

Even my grandfather did not say a word, that day. His mood was changeable, and I am not sure he recalled everything he had told me – he had wanted these words to be passed on, but it had been the urge of a moment, he had already forgotten my shoulder, was not even searching for me at his side, kept his thoughts fixed on reaching the River...

It was our last week with Náin, and Dáin, Fundin and the rest of the warriors. Seven days, and then we would part. Seven days, and then we would head into unknown lands, seeking for work and shelter, a new life beginning for us, among Men, away from halls and kin...

Seven days – and yet it still seemed long, among these hills we were treading, together still, walking, singing sometimes, laughing at each other... My sister's fingers in my hand, my brother's in my hair, on the second morning because my braids _were_ messy... Dwalin's silent joy, lightening his eyes, when he saw me able to unlace my sling, using my arm again, not carrying anything of course, but moving it again.

And my father's hand on my neck, every now and then, quiet and loving, telling me silently not to worry, that it was all right to be happy and careless every now and then – that it had nothing to do with shutting my eyes, that it was just making the best of our last week together, that there would be enough worries afterwards but that we would still try to face them, that it would be all right...

I tried. That week at least, I have let other carry my burden, a tiny hand lead me on, nimble fingers help me to undress and to braid my hair, and my father stand guard against darker thoughts...

That week I was happy, and would I be able to face him, the small Dwarfling I was, clinging to those I loved, because they were everything to me, because I had still enough wisdom and softness to see what really mattered – I would take his face between my hands, softly touch foreheads with him and tell him he was right.

Tell him I should never have choked him, that I should have listened to him more closely, made sure to remember him as well, and not only my grandfather's words – that I did not have any choice but still regret it, and that I am glad he seized these seven days to claim them his, to be a boy still and let others love him.

For that boy, that small boy no one will remember and who had so many thoughts, and questions, and doubts...

That small boy was right where the warrior and King erred, and I still grieve for him.


	6. Chapter 6

**The King of Carven Stone : Part V**

 **A Craft In Itself (Journey to Dunland)**

 **6.**

The thundering of water. This is the parting song I have always known – a song that has already turned to silence, here, lying on frozen water, on a waterfall caught still by frost and ice. Every time I had to bid farewell, there it has been, the sound of a River flowing close, moving on, following its course unmoved by our struggles...

I can still see us, on the shores of the River Running, blinded by ashes, smoke and tears, the day the Dragon came, that day I parted from everything I knew...

When we left the Iron Hills, the Red River's song had covered my own thoughts – one step after another, heading for Dunland...

The last time I have seen my father, he was standing among the few warriors I trusted enough to accompany him, and as he clasped my shoulders I had heard it, the faint roar of the River Lune's untamed waters in the Ered Luin, echoing our goodbyes...

The same river that stole my sister's happiness, because I had not been able to act quickly enough, because means were failing me, because I just _wasn't there_ , once more...

Even in Rivendell – in the last Homely House west of the Mountains, as they called it... Even there, among so much beauty, for I am not blind and stubborn enough to deny it, that place was kingly, and breathtaking, harbouring both memory and peace... But even there, surrounded by these white cascades, these chiselled arches and so much _peace_...

Even there I only said farewell, in the end: farewell to any hope save that aching, burning fire – the hope to reach home, and reclaim it before Durin's Day would fade away... The rest of the Elf-lord's offer I dismissed, once and for all. I would not stop to rest and remember. I would not be content with few scraps of iron when my people needed silver. I would not pause, and let my fingers leave blades for music strings. I would not be at peace, because I could not, because no one believed me capable of it – not even the Elf, or the Wizard who called himself my friend, and least of all me.

 _A strain of madness runs in that family._

The words were barely audible, covered by the waterfalls' turmoil, but I still heard them, and I remember the shocked, concerned look of my dear little friend who only ever wished me to be at peace, the way his expressive face just said _I'm sorry_ , and then I bade farewell.

Farewell to peace, farewell to music, not for me, you wise Elf-lord, you shrewd Wizard, you sweet, witty Halfling... Not for me. And the River roared, and thundered, and flowed, and I turned my back and left, once more.

I can still see them, the broad waters of the Anduin, swelled by the river Limlight, deep and dangerous, stretched between tree-covered banks while we searched for the bridge.

It was supposed to be there – at least, there it had been the last time Dwarves had crossed these lands, and that day we were following the banks, our boots sinking deep on the sandy shores, walking silently, seeking for a long-forgotten path to lead us across water...

The sun was setting when we reached it. A stone-bridge made of rough, solid bricks – six heavily-built arches stretched between pillars broader than houses... The waters broke against them, I could see white foam where the stream met brick, where the current pooled around stone, threatening to bring it down...

But there the bridge stood, its path broad enough for a cart to pass, carefully paved, its only adornments rough stone reinforcements, every ten steps... There were small-shaped towers, built against every pillar, sticking to the brick above the water, and as I gazed at them, my eyes narrowed by the sun's red light, I wondered what their purpose could have been.

They were too small for anyone to enter them, there was no sign anything could be stored there, so why had Men bothered to build them – was it to tell the River they did not fear her waters, that they still stood above them...? Or had there been guards, long ago, so long ago that no one could believe it anymore...?

"This is Men's work", my grandfather voiced, rousing me from my musings. "Let's make sure it holds."

He nodded towards my father, ordering him on, and Thráin obeyed, without looking at him or touching him. He stepped forward and took a look at the paving, at the first pillar, his hands brushing the stone as he moved on, frowning slightly, and we watched him cross the bridge. Slowly, crouching every now and then, his fingers testing the bricks all along, his shadow stretched broadly across the stones in the fading sunlight, as the River roared below him.

"Good Men's work."

His deep voice did not utter more. He caught Dís who had run towards him – she had been afraid to see the bridge tumble down, and I had felt her small body press itself against mine, rigid with fear despite my embrace. He lifted her, smiling at her, but he still did not look at his father, and did not see Thrór nod.

Thráin had ever been a fine craftsman when it came to build and reinforce – my father knew how to deal with weights and counterweights, how to take in Nature's restraints to make walls and bridges hold.

"If you say so...", Thrór replied, coldly – and yet it was his way to thank him, I see it now...

"We shall cross the bridge tomorrow."

And with these words we were finally allowed to rest, sit down together for the last evening we were to have with Náin and his warriors. We did not mount the tents, that night, it would only have been a waste of time. We sat close, and I remember Frerin searched for Náin's embrace, that evening, probably because Dáin had already begun acting tough and strong, keeping at his father's side because he would be the only Dwarfling going back.

Yet Frerin was not one to lose a precious moment with his cousin: Dáin was sticking to Náin? Fine, Frerin would make himself comfortable there, it did not matter...

My father was close to him as well, not speaking, just touching Náin's shoulder and forearm every now and then, as he would extend his arm to stir the fire, Dís still in his lap.

And Fundin was with his sons, both of them. He had Balin at his left side, and had drawn his arm around Dwalin's waist, dragging him against him, holding him close – that night Dwalin had not protested, had not even said a word. Fundin smiled at him, opened his arms and just said: "Come here, _mugrê..._ ", and Dwalin came.

It was night, and I was shivering in my fur coat, listening to the River. I had sat among the warriors, silently, watching the shadows drawn by the fire upon all these hard faces, my knees dragged up against my chest, alone because I did not know where to sit.

My shoulder was healing, it was still sore but I could move it, and the following day I was to try and lift some weight again. I looked at Dwalin, holding Fundin tightly, at Dís, slumbering in my father's arms, at Frerin and Dáin who had ended up falling asleep embracing each other – and as I did so I caught Náin's eye, who beckoned me silently to join him.

My father had closed his eyes, and as I sat down close to Náin he did not stir, not even when my uncle pulled me into one of his bear-like embraces, drawing his strong arms around my waist and settling me against his broad chest.

"Trouble sleeping, laddie?", he asked, rubbing my arms because he felt me shiver. "Cold?"

I shook my head wordlessly, getting used to my uncle's arms – he had rarely held me like that, not even while we had lived with him, but then Náin was warm, he was safe, he was my uncle and he was still there, for now... His callous hands rubbed my back and he smiled as he felt me relax, slowly.

"So, where do you hide it, laddie, eh...?"

He had whispered the words close to my cheek and I felt his beard tickle my ear as I looked up, puzzled.

"Hide what, uncle?"

Náin's chest quivered slightly as he laughed, his palms still rubbing my back affectionately.

"The key to silence that brain of yours, lad, so that you get some decent rest at last... Look at my boy, and at your little brother, they do that quickly enough, once they have gone through every silly idea their minds can conceive – thought I'd never get rid of them teasing each other to cross that bridge _alone during the night_..."

He huffed good-humouredly, shifting slightly so that he could hold me more comfortably, and in the end I just laid my cheek against his warm fur coat, listening to the vibrations of his voice as he spoke.

"So, lad – ready to switch it off...?"

He looked down at me, saw my wide-open eyes and grumbled:

"Thought as much. Thráin's son to the bone, that one."

His hand patted my back, and he went on with soft taps, every now and then – Náin's own way to rock children to sleep, that had always proved itself strangely efficient, especially with Dís.

"Alright, tell me then, for I could use a good story – what's going on under those raven locks, eh? What beautiful landscapes is it you see – nice, broad and tall Mountains, so high they pierce the clouds...? A big, shiny lake where you can see moon and stars alike...?"

I shook my head – by then I had drawn my arms around his waist and was embracing him tightly.

"A bridge."

I had spoken so lowly it was barely audible, but Náin still heard. He looked down at me, saw me biting my lip – and instantly knew I was fighting back tears.

I was so afraid. I was terrified to say goodbye, I did not want it, and the prospect of being hours away from it – of having _hours_ still to dread that terrible ache, it was pure torture. I would have given anything to follow Frerin's and Dáin's idea, though not for the same reasons: run over that bridge at night, while no one was awake, without saying goodbye, just to put it behind me, and then wait until those remaining at our side would follow...

I did not want to leave Náin, or Dáin. And most of all I did not want to see Dwalin leave Fundin, I could not bear it, it was just too dreadful, and nothing could possibly make it better, _nothing_...

"I see...", Náin said quietly. "Tonight, everyone seems to think about naught but that stone bridge..."

His broad hand searched for my face and his thumb gently wiped my cheek, still holding me close.

"It's alright, laddie. Let it out, it's alright, it's just your old uncle who loves you dearly, but this you know, right? I would give all the gold in Erebor to keep you close, you, your shiny brother, your lovely little sister, that big Dwalin-lad, and your father... But as it is, and since that brain of yours is determined not to sleep..."

He smiled, I could hear it in his voice – I had closed my eyes, hiding my face in his fur coat, and Náin went out brushing my cheek, on and on, his thumb rubbing soft circles against my skin.

"I just want you to know that bridges mean anything but farewell – even when people are very far away. The bridges we build go from _here_ , to _there_ , and you don't need to bother about distances, or time, for they will hold as long as you live, and even afterwards..."

He had touched my chest, and his chest, and as I looked up at him he smiled at me again.

"Now you are a strong lad, Thorin, and a brave and clever one. You won't need much help, I'm sure of it – you are going to become an amazing Dwarf, believe me, as you all will because your Souls are pure _míthril_... But even if you are far away, and even after years or decades – if you need help, ask for it, and I promise you I'll make sure it comes. Tomorrow we say goodbye, but we do not say 'live your life on your side while I live mine'. We say 'goodbye, until we meet again', because that's what true bridges are."

He was looking at me earnestly, still cupping my face between his hands, and in the end I nodded. He pulled me back against him, then, brushing my hair, patting my back gently as I nestled close to him, closing my eyes, my arms around his neck.

And he must have felt my body get heavier, slowly, for when he spoke again his voice was so soft I barely heard it.

"What do you see now, Thorin...?

\- You...", I muttered. "And Dáin... and Dwalin, Balin... and ' _adad_... and – and Dís, and Frerin and... and...

\- Good. That's good, lad. That's what it's all about..."

He kissed me, then, his lips meeting my hair softly, and I wanted to lift my face and thank him, but I couldn't, I could only press my cheek harder against his fur coat, making sure his chest met my chest, because he was there, and so was I, for a few precious hours more... And as I fell asleep I still felt them, his soft pats on my back, speaking of care and love that would not fade in time and distance.

I can recall it so clearly, that sad, silent morning close to the old stone bridge... That day I dressed silently, pulling on my chainmail because we were to cross foreign lands stretched between two forests – the strange, enchanted woods of Lorien, and the still stranger trees of Fangorn we would make sure not to enter.

I pulled on my chainmail, my jerkin, my belt, I fastened my axe and sword on my back, I braided my hair looking at the bridge, my face closed and my heart mouthing the word that had always kept me going.

 _Endure_.

I think I made sure no one could embrace me easily, that day. There were blades on my back, and I had lifted my bag as well, my fists clenched and my eyes dry.

We had all crossed the bridge, even Náin and his men – they had promised to escort us until we reached the Anduin, and would stay true to their word until the end.

Dáin and Frerin had raced each other, crossing the waters in the blink of an eye, while I had done it slowly, Dís clinging to my elbow, her small feet silent on the pavement, her little fingers shyly brushing the bridge's stony edge.

"Look, Thorin. Who is she?"

I lifted my gaze, and noticed a tiny statue, carved into one of the reinforcements, a small frame time had turned faceless. It looked brittle, but after a closer look I understood it was caught in cobwebs.

Dís extended her hand, haltingly, but she was small and did not reach the statue. She looked up at me, still clinging to my elbow, and watched me reach out for the stone, freeing it from dust and cobwebs, until the shape of a long-haired woman became truly visible again.

There was no face, no crown, nothing that could enlighten us – but Dís was certain she was the bridge's long-forgotten Queen, the bridge-maker's One, probably, watching over the Anduin...

"Now she can see again", she whispered, as I wiped my palm against my trousers, and then she clasped my elbow again, and resumed walking at my side, not afraid of the water's turmoil anymore.

In the end we all stood on the western shore, facing each other one last time. Two of the carts we would pull with us, the three others had been full of supplies and were to return to the Iron Hills, emptied, with Náin and his twenty warriors.

My uncle had nothing to add – he clasped my forearms, looked at me, his brown eyes so warm, and then he simply touched my chest, telling me silently to remember.

I bowed to every warrior, gravely, thanking them for their pains – and was surprised to feel the strength of their grip around my forearms. I barely knew them, they were not from Erebor, and yet they squeezed my bones just as if I was one of them, uttering a rough " _Maimhid_ ", and then letting go.

And Fundin... I was taking his treasure from him, I was ripping his heart open – his eyes were wet as he faced me, and I could barely look at him, but he still pulled me against him, not caring for my axe and sword, just holding me like a son.

"There is nothing I can give that you do not deserve", he whispered. "There is nothing for me to give you don't already have. Take care of yourself, boy, please do, will you?

\- I will...", I manage to let out, my voice hoarse. "I will..."

And with these words I pulled away, and turned, clenching my fists, biting my lips, turning towards my cousin – anything but look at Dwalin who was in his father's arms, now, I could not take it, it hurt too much...

"Oí, if he misbehaves, you can always send him back, right?"

Dáin was grinning at me, but his eyes were moist – Frerin was clinging to him, his arms tight around his chest, his face buried in his tunic, sobbing silently.

"Come on, you pebble, you don't want me to rust, do you?

\- I don't... want to..."

Frerin did not care – that he looked childish, that it was not warrior-like, that he didn't exactly make it easier, he just gave in to what he felt, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Yeah, neither would I, spending all my days with _Thorin_ , Mahal what a dreadful thought indeed... Get him drunk, once in Dunland, will you, it might cheer him up!"

Dáin was trying to fight back his own grief, and despite his words he truly looked miserable, gazing at me above Frerin's looks, patting his back, calling me for help.

"Come on, _kudz_...", I whispered, stepping up to him, gently loosening his arms from Dáin. "Let go, _kudz_ , let him be..."

Frerin only turned from his cousin to fall into my arms, clinging to me with all his might, almost choking me. And so it was that Dáin did not hug me – he could not truly reach me, could only lay his hand upon my shoulder, and he did, for a second, before stepping back.

 _\- Will you be alright?_

He had signalled the words in Iglishmêk, and so did I.

 _\- Yes. Don't you worry. Take care._

 _\- Take care yourself. Idiot._

 _\- Thank you. Hothead._

 _\- Raven-babbler._

 _\- Iron-digger._

 _\- Goodbye, Thorin._

 _\- Goodbye, Dáin._

And in the end they turned. We watched them cross the bridge again, Frerin still embracing me tightly, his cheeks wet and red, Dwalin standing tall and silent at my side, his expressive face unreadable, while Balin gently brushed his forearm.

And we watched them weave us goodbye, one last time, before they turned, and soon vanished between the trees – and the River roared, and thundered.

"Right. Let's go."

Frerin had spoken in a fierce voice, glaring furiously at his bag, axe and bow he shouldered with brisk moves.

"I'm sick of that bridge. I've seen and spilled enough water for a lifetime."

And with these words he was gone, one of the first to set out in the path leading through unknown lands, towards the Misty Mountains we would cross to reach Dunland.

"He's right. I'm off."

Dwalin had spoken quietly, and as he turned from the water I saw him brush his cheek with the back of his hand, only once – but enough to prevent me from following him too closely.

I looked at Balin, feeling so helpless – and he gave me a little smile, somewhat sad but as warm as ever.

"Give him some time, laddie. Come. Let us go."

And in the end I turned as well, walking close to Balin but only thinking of the friend I could not comfort, who was setting out so bravely on a path no one in his right mind could have chosen... I did not talk to him, the whole day, it was Dís who caught up with him and slipped her tiny hand into his – Frerin who made him smile, inventing silly stories about trees coming alive to tickle our toes in the middle of the night; Dagur who teased him about just how many axes a Dwarf should carry, was _one_ truly not enough...?

He didn't talk to me, either, not really, not for the first two days – not because he resented me, but because his grief was just too overwhelming. It took him three nights, actually – by then we had just entered the Mountains and were camping among rocks, relishing the feeling of being surrounded by stone again.

That night he rolled out his blanket close to me, as usual, and I earned a gruff " _g'night_ " once we both lay down. He had put his axes close to his head, I remember them because I mentally drew the shapes of their blades, on and on, for I had trouble falling asleep, as usual, and even more so these last days, because I worried for Dwalin and could not find any answer.

I stared at these blades for so long that in the end, I could have drawn them with my eyes closed, and I was on the verge of falling asleep when I heard it. A soft noise, so quiet it almost seemed an illusion.

But it was not. Dwalin was crying.

Dwalin was crying – and he had made sure to do so while no one could hear, probably thinking I was asleep. Maybe he had done so every night since we crossed the Anduin, quietly, unobtrusively – but what did it matter, actually, he was crying _now_ , his tall frame still and silent next to me.

I did not really think. I just moved, almost silently, until my arm circled his back – tried to circle it at least, while I pressed my body against his side, wanting him to feel warm, anything but cold, and lone, because he was almost everything to me.

He was not facing me, and I did not say anything. I just felt his sobs, every now and then, and held him, my cheek against his shoulder-blade. And after a while, as Dwalin slowly calmed down, I felt his fingers upon the hand I had laid against his chest.

He clasped it and I held it tight, brushing my thumb against his knuckles – just once, to tell him I was there, that I knew, that I was sorry, that I was _so, so sorry_ and loved him more than words could tell. That I would never forget what he had offered to me, and treasure it always.

He did not talk, he did not even turn, and I did not move. But when I woke up the next morning my head was resting against his chest and Dwalin's arms were wrapped tightly around my waist. He was awake already, and when I found his gaze he smiled at me.

"Sticking to me like moss upon a rock", he teased me.

"You snore", I replied, unmoved – I was overcome with relief, and joy, because he was there, smiling at me, so warm...

"You talk in your sleep", he retorted, and he grinned at me as he added: "Though in which language, I cannot tell...

\- Khuzdûl. I'm at my best even when I sleep."

He pinned me down, then, laughing silently, and I let him, gazing up at him, my eyes bright, so relieved to have him there, so grateful to have such a friend staying at my side.

After that, there was no awkwardness, no cold silence, no distance anymore. We were even closer than when we set out – and it has been one of my life's pride and joy to see that every year we passed together brought us nearer.

I crossed the Misty Mountains at his side, and I had no trouble falling asleep, as long as he would let me rest my head against his chest, and draw my arms around him.

I was not even afraid when the Mountain-pass opened, when I saw the huge, green valley stretched at our feet, where houses and villages were scarce and hidden, and knew that we had reached Dunland.

That day, I did not know we would not find a true home for years – that it would be mostly wandering, accepting work where we could find it, taking shelter where Nature and Men allowed us.

I did not know I would spend the last years of my childhood working like a grown-up Dwarf, scraping bits of craftsmanship here and there until I managed somehow to defend myself at the anvil – and that afterwards I would learn to become even more skilled with blades, using these abilities to defend Men against thieves and bandits who were often wealthier than us...

I had no idea how hard it would be – years and years of feeling so _hungry_ , because I was growing while there never seemed to be enough, not enough food, not enough money, and no guarantee, never, always suspicion and greed and distrust, until they got it, in the end, until I stopped trusting Men as well, and saw them almost as black and false as I viewed Elves.

But there was also joy, and friendship, and love, because we were happy in Dunland, despite of everything – because we managed to stay and grow up together, and because, no matter how hard they were, these years still were years of peace.

And as I entered Dunland at Dwalin's side – still smaller, and tinier, full of fears but also harbouring the shy hope that _we would make it_ , in the end, that we would all be fine... somehow my heart was not heavy, not only full of grief, sorrow and regrets – still curious, eager to be surprised, and to trust and love.

Hard years of hunger and labour indeed, but happy years, for we still had peace, and were together, sharing joys and sorrows alike – and this was priceless.

* * *

 **Neo-Khuzdûl translations** :

\- _Mugrê_ : my bear, Fundin's nickname for Dwalin.

\- _Maimhid_ : be blessed.


End file.
